He frowned at the phone as he disconnected. “I have to swing by our warehouse. It’s a new location, but it’s on the way. Do you mind? It’ll only take a moment.”
“Sure.” As long as it got me closer to a hot shower, clean bed, and a moment of privacy to call Natalya.
We drove to the warehouse and Thomas parked in back. “I’ll only be a few. Interested in coming inside?”
“I’ll pass. Thanks.”
Thomas studied me for a moment. “Suit yourself.” He opened the door and left.
I watched him punch in a code in the box by the door and heard the click as the lock released. Thomas went inside and I waited in the car. Five minutes later, I was still waiting. Ten minutes later, I got out of the car and paced. Twenty-five minutes later, angrier than a hornet’s nest, I decided to go inside and haul his ass out.
Then I remembered the door had an automatic lock.
I knocked and no one answered. I banged on the door. Still, no one answered. I yanked the handle and the door flew open. “Whoa.” I stopped the door’s momentum with my foot and peered inside. It was pitch-black.
“Hello?” I listened. Somewhere off to my left, plastic crinkled.
I moved into the warehouse. The door slammed behind me. I skimmed a hand along the wall, found the light switch, and flipped it on. A high-wattage bulb buzzed on a few feet from my face, blinding me.
Shit. I held my forearm above my eyes.
“Carlos.” A disembodied voice said from beyond the light. “Look at me until I say something.”
I lowered my arm slightly and squinted. “Who’s there?”
“Don’t talk. Just listen. Listen . . . listen . . . listen.” The voice soothed in an even cadence. “In a moment, I’m going to say one, two, three, and when I do, I want you to nod.”
I listened and waited.
“One . . . two . . . three,” came the monotone voice.
I nodded.
“Now continue to nod, and as you nod I want your eyes to close. I want them to feel heavy like you’ve stayed up too late. You’re tired, Carlos.”
I weaved.
“Your eyes feel heavy . . . they’re very heavy . . .”
My eyelids closed.
“Go to sleep . . . you should . . . sleep.”
I crumpled to the floor.
The buzz of heated whispers reached me as the darkness in my head ebbed. I forced open my eyes, which felt like ripping duct tape off a flesh wound. Light emanated from overhead. It wasn’t blinding like the one I swore flashed in my face a moment ago, but it did burn. My eyes watered and my forehead throbbed. My limbs felt heavy as though pinned to whatever I was lying upon. I tried moving my head toward the voices. Pain shot across my temple.
Damn, that hurt. I groaned.
Whispers faded and a face appeared above me, blocking the light fixture. He looked familiar.
“What’s your name?”
I frowned and moaned again.
“What’s your name?” he asked in firmer tone.
My name? My name is . . . my name . . . my . . . name . . . is . . . “Carlos.” The word scraped over dry vocal cords.
“Shit.” The face disappeared and the heated whispers buzzed again.
I willed my arms to move. Stiff plastic crinkled underneath. I cradled my head. When had it ever hurt this bad?
Once, I thought. In the early days after my accident.
I blew out a breath as memories shimmered into view. The accident, therapy, my wife, her death, my sons. Thomas, that asshole. Natalya. Oh man. I needed to call her. Focusing on the light overhead, I tried to get some control over the pain.
Voices rose, transitioning from a buzz to a hiss, moving faster. Two, or maybe three, people were here with me, and they were arguing. The ligaments around my ears tensed as I tried deciphering their words through the pain.
“Memory inhibition . . . brain imbalance . . . need a neural image from prior to the episode.”
“Not possible. Can we try again?”
“Not here . . . shouldn’t have come . . . lose my license . . . bring him to me.”
I tried sitting up. Pain shot from my head and down the ridges of my spine. A long, low groan emanated from my chest.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“The suggestion hasn’t worn off yet.”
“You gave him a headache?”
Someone cursed, then sighed, long and impatient.
“What else can we do?”
“Nothing really, other than pinpoint the stressors. Go from there.”
There was a long pause before, “I think there might be another way. I’ve got to get him to the hotel before his tail thinks something other than a tour is happening.”
Whatever they were talking about, I wasn’t going to find out. I curled on my side and dropped. My nose, chest, and knees connected with the cement floor.
“Gah!” I slid my knees inward and cupped my nose.
Feet thundered to my side. Hands grasped my armpits, hauling me back onto the plastic-covered couch I’d been lying on. I propped elbows on knees and dropped my face in my hands. My nose throbbed. I cautiously touched the bridge.
The couch dipped beside me. “I doubt you broke it.”
My brain finally caught up and connected the voice beside me to Thomas. “Muck you,” I said, the words muffled in my hands.
“I didn’t mean to take so long. I was just leaving when you came inside.”
“What happened?” My head screamed and I squeezed shut my eyes. I still saw that blazing light every time I closed them. Its shape and intensity seared into my retina.
“You flipped the switch on the torchlight, tripped over the cord, and hit the floor. You went down harder than a steel beam dropped by a crane. Scared the shit out of me.” He chuckled uneasily.
I lifted my head and looked around. “Where is everyone?”
Thomas gave me an odd look. “Who?”
“The other people who were here.”
He slowly shook his head. “There isn’t anyone here but us.”
“I heard voices . . .”
Thomas’s mouth slid into a curve and I slammed mine shut. I knew exactly how that statement made me sound. Crazy.
“How are you feeling?”
Nausea coiled in my stomach like the snake of a brother sitting beside me. I didn’t believe a word of his, but I wasn’t in the condition to argue.
He clapped my shoulder. “Let’s get you to the hotel.”
I slowly stood and promptly lost my balance. Thomas grabbed my upper arm and I shook him off. “Don’t touch me.” I started to walk toward the door. “Just . . . leave me . . . the fuck . . . alone.”
He held up both hands. “Sure thing, bro.”
Thomas dropped me off at the hotel without any further suggestions about visiting the house we grew up in or checking out the offices of the legacy our parents had left us. But he did want to talk and offered to buy me a cocktail at the bar.
I wanted to pop three aspirin, take a shower, and call Nat.
I didn’t ask Thomas again about the people I swore had been at the warehouse with us. And the farther we drove away, the more I wondered exactly what had happened. Shrouded under the thick haze of a migraine, the incident grew fainter with each passing moment.
Thomas stopped in front of the lobby entrance and I got out of the car. He popped the trunk and the valet removed my bags.
“Carlos.” Thomas leaned across the front seat and offered his business card. “Call if you need me or have questions,” he said as if he’d just sold me a life insurance policy.
Maybe he had. Something had happened at the warehouse and I had survived intact. I was still Carlos.
His face turned serious. “I’ve missed you.”
“Yeah, sure,” I muttered, and shut the door. Thomas drove off and I tossed his card in the trash.
Once checked in to the room with my luggage and carry-on dumped inside the pencil case–size closet, I popped three aspirin, swallowed them dry, and took a shower. Scalding water drenched my hair and poured over my shoulders. I watched it course down my abs, creating rivulets across my groin and thigh. It swirled down the drain, carrying a day’s worth of travel grime into the sewers. The vein in my head throbbed and I gritted my teeth. What the hell happened today?