Brain Storm (A Taylor Morrison Novel Book 1) Page 2

  Relief swamped me as soon as the door shut, giving me a false sense of security. I hurriedly locked it and slumped over onto the wheel. Oh my gosh, what was going on? I felt myself cringe, convinced that I had somehow been responsible for the whole debacle. I had no idea how, but whatever was happening, it couldn’t be good. My mind immediately started hurling down some really scary paths, which wasn’t helping the situation at all. There was still way too much adrenaline in my system, and I was afraid the doubt and the questions coursing through my head could easily turn into confusion and panic without too much prodding. This was not the time to try and figure it out. I needed to stop and get a grip. I needed to concentrate on the here and now. I needed to get out of here.

  Trying to shake off the fear, I managed to locate my keys and get the car started. I glanced into the rear view mirror as I pulled out of the lot, and caught sight of Denzel. He had come out of the coffee shop and was watching me. I couldn’t help but shiver as I pushed my foot to the floor and fled the scene.

  I made the drive home in record time, constantly checking behind me in case Denzel had decided to get in his car and come after me. I was pretty good at picking up a tail, but still, my morning hadn’t gone so well. My confidence had definitely fallen a peg or two, and I was worried I might be missing something. I pulled into my underground parking space, gave it a once over to make sure no one was lurking in the shadows, and somehow managed to retain enough control not to run madly to the elevator. It was a small victory, but considering my state of mind, I’d take it.

  Minutes later, I was safe behind a very solid, very locked door. Leaning against it in relief, the absurdity of the situation hit me and I suddenly felt like a fool. I’m a trained professional. I had no doubt I could have handled Denzel without a problem, even if he had come after me, but I’d freaked out and let panic run amok. I shook my head, disgusted with myself. Whatever was going on, losing my head, if I hadn’t already actually done that, wasn’t going to help. I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew I could figure it out. When I did, I’d find a way to deal with it. I ran a still shaking hand through my hair and feeling the stiff bits of dried whipped cream decided a shower was the next course of action. Then I’d work on the problem at hand. Feeling a little better now that I had a plan, simple as it was, I headed off to the bathroom and a long hot shower.

  IT’S A WONDERFUL feeling to be clean after being so utterly filthy. I guess it’s a lot like not being able to appreciate the mountaintop unless you’ve been in the valley. Whatever the case, it was wonderful to be rid of the coffee and whipped cream, although I did have to wash my hair three times to get it clean. I wrapped my hair in a towel, slipped on a robe and headed to the kitchen for that cup of morning coffee I had yet to enjoy. I had some serious thinking to do and coffee is essential for serious thinking. Or thinking at all, in my case. I measured out the beans, ground them up and started the machine.

  Leaning back against the counter, I took several deep breaths, letting the aroma of brewing coffee flow through me. Okay, let’s think about this. Maybe it’s not so bad. Things happen all time. Things you can’t really explain. I’m sure they’ve happened to pretty much everyone at one time or another. That one peculiar time when coincidence just seems too convenient an explanation. When you just KNOW something else is going on. I’d always had pretty severe bouts of déjà vu. Who hasn’t? Then there’re the dreams. The ones where you wake up and actually remember what happened and you just know it isn’t a dream, but some sort of warning? So you don’t drive down that particular street on the way to work that day, or you make sure to remember to lock the doors that night. Weird, yes, but common. Everyone does it, so it doesn’t make you different when it happens to you. Right? But then there’s this. This thing of wanting someone’s coffee one instant, only to find it flying toward you the next. That was just too weird for words.

  Sighing, I opened the cabinet for my favorite cup, poured in the coffee, added extra cream, and took a long slow sip, savoring the richness and warmth. It didn’t taste like my white chocolate mocha, but it was satisfying and regaining something of my morning ritual did make me feel better. The time had come to face the music. Braced with my coffee, my fluffy robe and my somewhat shaky resolve, I decided to finally drag that nagging voice that was whispering inside my head out into the open.

  There were only three explanations I could think of for what had happened. One – the guy threw the coffee at me for some unknown reason. As I’d pretty much already come to the conclusion that he hadn’t done that, I had to consider the second possibility. I could move objects with my mind. There. I said it. Silently, in my head, where no one could laugh. Except me. How could I even think such a thing? I didn’t know of anyone who could do that. There was that picture of the kid bending the spoon in Tibet or something, but how real was that? And that was nothing like this. I was pretty certain I was out there on my own. Not a place I enjoy being mentally or physically.

  What if it were true, though? What if I had become some sort of mental giant and could do all these fantastic things? On one hand, it might be kind of cool. The episode with the keys worked out quite well. The peanut butter and the coffee incidents, not so much.

  Maybe it was time to move on to door number three, which I didn’t even want to think about but it couldn’t really be ignored. What if I was imaging all this? What if I really had lost it? My mind was starting to run away with itself and the myriad of possibilities. I could feel my heart rate start to race and noticed my hand was back to shaking as I raised my mug for a another long sip. So much for a calm and collected approach.

  Okay. I needed to get control of myself. I didn’t even know if mind moving or whatever is was called, was really something someone could do, much less if I could really do it or not, but I was pretty sure I preferred that to checking myself into our local mental institution. I needed to find out if it was real or if I was just imagining it. I needed a test. Try to move something. But what? Looking down at the cup in my hand I decided that anything full of liquid was definitely out. Been there, done that. I took one last sip and poured what was left in the cup down the drain. Then I poured out the pot too, just to be on the safe side.

  I grabbed a fork from the dishwasher and then replaced it immediately with a spoon. Recalling the coffee flying at me, the idea of accidentally stabbing myself with a fork was way too vivid. A spoon just seemed safer, although on reflection, there’s that pointy thing called a handle on the other end that could easily put an eye out. I hesitated for a second, but then I remembered the kid bending that spoon and the decision was made.

  So the experiment began. The first spoon hadn’t moved at all. I have to confess, it was a half hearted attempt at best. Part of me wanted the power, so as not to be crazy and the other part wanted to be crazy with the provision that a little pill would take care of it. Both parts of me were more scared than I like to admit, but either way, I needed to know for sure. So, determining to really do my utmost, the tests began in earnest. One spoon quickly became five, then ten, as I took my frustrations out on each victim, convinced the failure lay in the spoon itself and not me. I was certain that if I just found the right spoon, it would work. I’d made my way through every spoon in house until I was down to this one final spoon.

  Now, it was decision time. Keep trying or give up. I looked over at the spoons laying silently on the floor and realized that, deep down, I was unprepared to admit to mental instability, so one of these spoons had to move, and move on its own. The alternative was simply unacceptable. Reaching out, I gently lifted the spoon from its nesting place and softly sat it on the table in front of me. Maybe this time it would work.

  I braced my hands on each side of the spoon, lowered my head down until my chin was nearly on the tabletop and focused every ounce of my being on the silver gleaming only inches before me.

  “Move,” I whispered softly. “Move, move, move.” I was practically chanting, hearing my voice tighten in frust
ration as I repeated the word time and again and still, not a shudder, not a quiver. Nothing. It just sat there, mocking me and my stupidity.

  I jerked up, slamming the edge of the table with open palms, frustrated beyond belief and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, hanging across from me on the wall. It stopped me in my tracks. My hair was sticking out all over my head, the towel I had wrapped it in earlier having fallen off. My eyes were big with a wild look that was definitely disconcerting and there was little, if any, color in my face. I looked crazy, which was only appropriate because what I was doing definitely fell into the ‘crazy’ category. All of which wouldn’t have been so bad, except my experiment had failed and there was a real possibility that I had slipped over the edge and actually was crazy.

  Nothing else could explain it. Something was wrong with me. I knew it deep down, had suspected it for a while, but I’d been trying my absolute best to avoid facing it. This morning had changed all that. I couldn’t deny it any longer, but I couldn’t explain it either. This spoon experiment certainly hadn’t helped any. I’d been at it for hours, still had no answers, and to top it all off, now I had one vicious headache.

  Exhausted, I laid my head on the table, the cool smooth surface soothing against my cheek, and let out a deep breath that sounded dangerously close to a moan. I closed my eyes, confused and sad. What was happening to me? And why?

  ONE

  THE POUNDING ON the door brought me up in a panic. I must have fallen asleep or passed out. I don’t know which. I jerked up, way too fast, made myself totally dizzy and nearly fell off the chair. Completely disoriented, I braced my hands on each side of the table, trying to get my balance, while my mind whirled trying to remember where I was and what had happened. My eyes finally stopped spinning around in my head and catching sight of the spoons, it all came roaring back to me.

  Good grief. The dining room looked like a spoon cemetery. I had no idea of how long I’d been out, but at least my headache was down to a dull throbbing. The banging noise certainly wasn’t helping though and I eased myself up and started shuffling toward the door. I felt like I had to be 100 years old. Everything was stiff and sore, which is what I deserved for sleeping on the table, of all things. I braced one hand on my back as I leaned against the door, trying to see through the peephole. I had a fleeting thought that maybe Denzel had found me, but the reality was far worse.

  “Who is it?” I asked, stalling. My voice sounded raspy and was barely above a croak. I cleared my throat and repeated myself with much better results. I knew perfectly well who it was. I could clearly see her through the peephole. The threat of Denzel was nothing compared to the reality of Trinity when she was on a tear. She’s my best friend, sometimes employer, and along with her grandmother, the closest thing to family I have. She’s also one of the most respected and feared attorneys in town. They didn’t call her ”The Pit-bull” for nothing. She could eat you up and spit you out without so much as a blink of an eye. And she had come for me.

  “Open the door!” It was her lawyer voice she was using now. The one that said she wasn’t going to stand for anymore nonsense and to get the door open. Now. I had no idea how long she had been out there, but from the sound of her voice, it had been long enough. This was the last thing I needed, but I didn’t have a choice. She wasn’t going away. I opened the door just as she was gearing up for another round of pounding, stopping her arm in mid-recoil. She looked at me and froze, her eyes going big. Within seconds, she went from furious to laughing like a hyena, right there in the hallway in front of my door. I would have wondered what the joke was, except she was managing to point at me during her fit of laughter.

  “Good Trinity. Really nice. At least come inside and do this. I do have neighbors.”

  “Oh my gosh, Taylor, have you seen yourself?” She staggered into the condo and leaned against the wall trying to catch her breath.

  I wandered over to the mirror in the foyer and looked to see what was so funny. I’d seen myself earlier and I couldn’t imagine I looked much different now. I was wrong. My eyes had gone from wild and crazed to glazed-over with bags big enough to pack most of the contents of my closet into them. Stress had tightened my lips and jaw together and the remains of my headache had me squinting through little slits to see myself. I looked like death. Trinity was obviously amused at my hair which was still standing on end all over my head except now, the right side was pressed flat against the side of my face. It must have happened when I was in a coma on the table. As if this wasn’t enough, I had a bright cherry red circle on my cheek where I had been lying on the table. Lovely. Just lovely. I turned back to Trinity, which was all she needed to dissolve in another fit of laughter. She was trying to say something.

  “Yo…. you… your hair,” she stammered out, pointing again.

  “What about it?” I tried to give the impression that there was nothing out of the ordinary, which only stoked the fires for Trinity, who was now doubled over with her hands braced on her knees. She had long ago dropped her purse on the floor along with her briefcase in an effort, I suppose, not to collapse onto the floor. As I watched her trying to get some air into her lungs between guffaws, I found myself smiling in spite of the day I’d had and the cloud hanging over my head. I was amazed to feel my nerves start to unwind and things start to come back into perspective. It’s hard to take yourself seriously when your best friend is about to require medical assistance from laughing so hard. Perhaps this wasn’t the end of the world as I knew it. I glanced again in the mirror and this time was able to see the some of the humor in the situation. I normally was fairly well groomed. In fact, I couldn’t recall a time I had ever looked like this, even straight out from surgery, when everyone looks awful and your hair is a mess from those stunningly attractive head caps they put on you. Nope, this was definitely a first.

  I noticed that Trinity had worked her way down to mostly sniffling among a few remaining snorts of laughter. If the opposing council could see her now, propped against the wall, with tears running down her face, they won’t be so afraid of her.

  “I’m sorry, Taylor,” she managed to choke out, as she pushed herself off from the wall and wiped at her face. “It’s really not that bad. I think it’s just that when you missed our lunch date and I couldn’t reach you, I was really worried. I canceled my last appointment because I thought you were dead or something and I was scared and angry and then you opened the door and looked like… well, I don’t know what, but nothing good.”

  She stopped to pick up her bags and headed toward the kitchen, talking over her shoulder at me as I followed. “I guess I was so relieved to know you were all ….” Her voice faded out as the spied my handy work in the dining room. “Taylor, what is going on?” she demanded, all traces of humor gone. She pinned me with her lawyer, make them talk, glare. The change was so fast, all I could do was blink at her. “First you stand me up for lunch and then you don’t answer your phone. I rush over here thinking something horrible has happened and you don’t answer the door and I stand out there pounding on it like some fool. When I am about ready to call the police, you finally show up and you look like you’ve been beaten up with an ugly stick and now here’s your Grandma’s good spoons all over the floor. I repeat,” she spat out the words as she slowly started walking toward me with her hands on her hips and fire in her eye. “What is going on?”

  “You phoned?” I asked, more than a little confused.

  “Yes, I phoned. Both phones and repeatedly. Have you been here all day? Didn’t you hear them?” She strode over to my home phone and snatched it up, listening for dial tone. “There’s nothing wrong with this phone, so what is wrong with you? Why didn’t you answer?”

  Good question. I never heard the phones ringing. How was that even possible?

  “What time is it?” I asked, preferring to change the subject than think about the ramifications of what she was saying.

  “What?” Trinity checked her watch and gave me a questioning
look along with the answer. “4:45. In the afternoon, if you haven’t figured that out.” At my blank look, it became obvious, I hadn’t. “Are you telling me, you don’t know what time it is? That you never heard the phone ring? Have you been here all day?”

  “No,” I replied. “Just most of the day and before you ask again, there is an explanation. Of sorts.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? There’s either an explanation or there isn’t. Which one is it?” We were in the kitchen now and Trinity threw her stuff on the counter in exasperation and caught sight of my mess in the sink. “I can see you managed time for coffee. Have you eaten anything today?”

  Come to think of it, no. Food would probably help get my brain going again. I sort of bobbled my head in answer to her question and opened the refrigerator, searching for the chunk of cheddar I kept on hand for just such emergencies.

  “Look Trinity. It’s been a weird day and I’m not sure I understand it, but I’m okay. Just a little foggy, probably from my headache,” I started explaining as I grabbed a knife from the block.

  “Probably from lack of food,” she corrected me, eyeing the knife in my hand.

  Gee, it wasn’t like I was going to attack someone with it. Then again, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the toaster, I couldn’t really blame her for thinking I might be a little bonkers. Oh, if she only knew the whole story….

  “Let’s make a deal,” I tried again, taking a bite out of the huge slice of cheese I had cut for myself. “I need to go take a shower. Obviously, I also need to do something with my hair and get some food. How about I get cleaned up, you order some dinner in and I’ll tell you the whole sordid tale.”