Author's Heart: My thanks to Uma, Clarity, and Terry for the actions and dialog that were borrowed from them. And to Ann, your creative idea will always be the foundation of my inspiration.

 

 

 

The harsh sound of the alarm takes the dream from me. I rub my eyes, reach for the alarm and shut it off. I turn to lie on my back, part of me expecting...hoping he'll still be lying next to me. He seemed so real. I can still feel his hands on me. Feel him inside me. Still taste his mouth on mine. I remember him so clearly. The way he made me feel in his arms. Beautiful. Cherished.

I turn to look at Jason's side of the bed. He isn't there. Jason isn't either. But he wouldn't be. He is usually up and out of the house by six. Odd that his side of the bed is made. He obsesses about perfection, but it's his expectation that I am the one who has to maintain it for him. He would never have made the bed himself. I think little more of it and get up to begin my routine.

I trudge sleepily into the bathroom and blink my eyes hard against the light above the vanity. I realize there's no evidence that Jason showered this morning. No misty haze. No scent of his bath soap. The bath mat feels completely dry under my feet. I wonder if he slept here last night. It's not like him to sleep in a hotel. He thinks they're filthy. I've always suspected that he's gone outside our marriage before. Maybe he's with his secretary. She is a beautiful young brunette. Jason never allows himself to lack female adoration. At least he's consistent. She can have him.

"Oh my God." My voice rushes out of me at my reaction towards the reflection staring back at me. It's me. But it isn't. Not the me I've gotten used to seeing. Tired. Pale. Defeated. You don't really notice the gradual day-to-day changes in your appearance. This was...a completely different version of myself. The younger, happier self, I thought I'd lost. I look closely, taking in my whole appearance. I look...good. A little sleepy-eyed, of course, but the dark circles are gone. My skin looks smooth. My cheeks have a hint of pink. My lips aren't pursed and tight, they're relaxed and soft. I must have gotten a better night's sleep than I thought.

 

*****

 

Showered and dressed, I go downstairs for breakfast. I walk through the kitchen, taking no notice of anything but the refrigerator. I rinse a piece of fruit and rub it dry with a paper towel. The living room lay ahead of me. It suddenly reaches me with its message: Something's wrong.

"Oh my god." Again. Echoing my reaction in the mirror. I almost choke on the bit of fruit in my mouth. The living room. It's a mess. Well, not a mess, by conventional definition. But, certainly by Jason's. The pillows on the sofa are astray and a blanket is draped over the arm. The remote control and several DVD cases are scattered on the coffee table. On the breakfast nook to my left, a newspaper lay open next to a glass on the table.

What the hell had I done yesterday? Did I completely disregard the house? 

I panic. There is no conceivable way I can let Jason see the house in this state. I loop my apron over my head and tie the back and I begin to set the house in order. The kitchen needs to be cleaned, the laundry finished, floor scrubbed, carpets vacuumed. I need to dust, polish. How can so much have built up in one day? I'm completely thankful Jason didn't come home last night.

After several hours, the house once again matches Jason's picture perfect standard. Exhausted, I slump down on the sofa and glance weakly at the clock. It's only half past four. I have time to make dinner and have it ready before Jason comes home. He can walk through the door with no knowledge of the condition of the house when I woke up this morning.

As usual, dinner is ready at six. Heat escapes it as it waits on the dining table. For a half hour, I anticipate the sound of Jason's key in the lock. I wait another twenty minutes and decide he is just working late. I cover the dishes of food and put them in the oven on a low heat. I retreat to the sofa hoping that flipping through the channels on the television will take my mind off of the agonizing wait for him to come home. I know he won't be happy that his food is drying out in the oven. I'll probably have to make something fresh.

 

*****

 

 

The sound of the phone wakes me suddenly. It should have been the alarm clock. I always sleep in our bed. Jason doesn't like it when I fall asleep in the living room. But, I did have the most peaceful sleep last night. I don't remember much about the dream I had except that I was near the ocean. That's not unusual, this is California. There was also a coffee shop nearby. Or was it a bookstore? And something about...strawberries...and soap? That's odd. I must have been dreaming about taking a bath...or something. Oh well.

I tug my blanket off and get up to look around the room for some sign that Jason came home last night. 

Nothing. No shoes near the door. No keys on the hook. 

The phone is still ringing. It must be him calling from wherever the hell he is. Maybe the bastard got into an accident and he's calling from the hospital. I can only hope.

I pick up the receiver; my hand is shaking as I brush my hair aside. Before I can say 'Hello', I hear the dial tone. The caller i.d. is useless; it says only 'unknown caller.' Perfect. I put the phone back down and check the rest of the house. Again, nothing. Not that I'm disappointed, but I can't help but be curious to know where he is. I don't want Jason surprising me; that's the last thing I need. The only thing I can think to do now is call his office.

"Good Morning; Ledger and Associates; Mr. Hudson's office; this is Christine speaking; how may I direct your call?"

Mr. Hudson's office? "Christine, this is Grace. I need to speak to Jason, please." 

"I'm sorry, Mrs....?"

Is she kidding? "Turner. Mrs. Grace Turner. Jason's wife?" You vapid idiot.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Turner, but I don't know of a Mr. Jason Turner in this office."

My impatience is starting to boil. "Very funny. You've been his secretary for three years. Of course you know him. Look, this is no time joke around Christine. Jason didn't come home last night or the night before. Did he come into the office this morning?"

"I'm sorry Mrs. Turner, but I don't know Mr. Turner. Perhaps you've misdialed."

"What?" She has the nerve to patronize me? "Never mind! I'll come down there myself!" I slam the phone down before she can respond. I know Christine doesn't like me. Of course that's most likely due to the fact that she's sleeping with my bastard husband behind my back. But, how dare that little tart play games with me!

An hour later, I'm standing in the elevator on my way to the 18th floor. I march through the corridor and straight towards Jason's office, completely ignoring Christine.

"Ma'am...ma'am you can't just go in there!"

I burst through the door and into a meeting. I recognize a couple of people whom I had probably met during some obscure office function that Jason dragged me to in order to keep up his 'trustworthy family man' image. Not one of them seems to recognize me though. Why would they? Wives are just ornaments to these types of men.

The hefty older man behind the desk looks past me. "Christine, who is this?"

I can hear Christine standing near the door behind me. "I'm very sorry Mr. Hudson. I don't know who she is. I've alerted security. They should be here any moment."

"Where is Jason?" I say to no one in particular.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but this is my office. I don't know who you are or who you are looking for-"

"Jason Turner. He's been an attorney with this firm for over ten years now! He just made partner last month for Christ's Sake! You can't tell me you never-"

A deep booming voice comes from behind me. He steps next to me and addresses the older man. "Mr. Hudson, is everything okay?"

"This woman has stepped into the wrong office by mistake. See that she finds her way back downstairs and out of the building."

"Yes sir. Come with me ma'am."

Incredulous, I look to Mr. Hudson and then back to Christine. Of course, she's no help. What the hell is going on? That's the only thought on my mind as I am followed to the elevator by this rent-a-cop. I'm too consumed by confusion to worry about how embarrassing it is to be escorted from my husband's building like a criminal. If anyone gave the oddest glance my way, I didn't notice. Let them look.

 

*****

 

I'm on my cell the entire way back home, calling information for the number of every hospital in the area. Once again...nothing. Not a damned thing. Not one patient by the name of Jason Turner. Can't call the police; Jason hasn't been missing for 24 hours. I call every single one of Jason's friends. They all act like they don't know who I am, who Jason is, or what the hell I'm talking about. Apparently I'm some loon who's dialed the wrong number...nine times. Am I supposed to assume that my husband has dropped off the face of the Earth? I wonder if the landing was a hard one. Nah, couldn't possibly be hard enough.

I don't know when I made the turn, but I'm not driving straight home. I'm in the southbound lane of Highway 1. Jason's father has a large home in San Simeon. It's a two hour drive, but I can't think of any other place Jason might be. Whatever games those jackasses at his office are playing, at least I can be sure that Jason's father knows him. I'm in no hurry to talk to Mr. Turner, though. His wife, Jason's mother, died in a mysterious 'accident' three years ago. What can I say? Like father, like son. Jason's a chip off the same ole sadistic concrete block. But, until someone let's me in on the goddamn joke, who else am I gonna talk to?

I need some air. I roll down the window and let in a cool ocean breeze as I turn onto Windsor Blvd. 

"Son of a...what the hell!" I hit the steering wheel in frustration. It's supposed to be right there, right goddamn there! We were just here two weeks ago! Jason couldn't wait to tell his dad about being made partner. It. Was. Here! There is no possible way they could have torn down that huge house and built a...

...fucking restaurant!

I want to cry. My hands are shaking. I pound them on the horn until I notice that my rant is attracting the attention of the people eating lunch on the restaurant terrace. Go ahead and look, people. If you were having the day I'm having...well...

Oh god. This is not funny.

I sit up. Smooth back my hair. Put the car in drive. Drive away. 

I'm okay. 

I'm not crazy at all. 

Nope. Not. At. All.

I wonder if there is a loony bin nearby. Do they accept walk-ins?

 

*****

 

 

I finally concede to the fact that I am simply having an odd day. A strange, could-qualify-as-an-episode-of-"The Twilight Zone" kind of odd. I am sure of only one thing at this point: I am not going back to Jason. He can have the house, the cars, and all of the needlessly expensive things we've acquired over the years. I don't want or need any of it. If Jason had found the bank account I have been hiding, I'm certain he would have let me know...in his own harsh way. I'll have to remember to pay cash for everything for a while. If I leave a trail, I'm sure Jason will follow it.

I pull into a gas station for two reasons: both my car and I are thirsty. I'm standing at the pump, quietly cursing the cost of gasoline and then myself for wearing heels. Force of habit, I guess.

When I look up, I can't believe what I see. It's...him. The man from the dream. Oh God.

He walks into the convenience store. I am not far behind him. I have to get a better look. But, I'm certain it's him. 

I stand nonchalantly near the aisle where he picks up a soda from the cooler. He walks right past me and stands at the counter paying the attendant.

I have to say something to him. Anything. But he is out the door and halfway to his car already.

Think, Grace. Think.

Before I have time to think, I'm pulling out onto the highway behind him.

 

*****

 

 

I've been following my dream man for an hour and a half now. He's finally stopped near a restaurant called The Phoenix Bar & Grill. I pull into a space across the street and watch him get out of his car.

Okay, I'm here. He's right...there. Now what do I do? Alright so I hadn't thought this far ahead in my brilliant plan. I've been off track for the last 48 hours or so. Why should now be any different? Well, I drove all this way, following him for a reason. But, I can't just follow him all night, can I? Exactly when does following qualify as stalking? Could be right about now.

I watch him go inside The Phoenix. I need to think of something to say to him. He could be the only person who may actually remember who I am. 

He has to.

After a few more minutes of trying to convince myself to see this through, I follow him inside. He walks towards a tall red-haired man. 

I take a seat at the bar. "Excuse me, could I get a Jack and Coke, please?"

The lovely waitress grins as she slides the drink in front of me. I can't help but smile as I pluck one of the playing cards from the side of the glass. A Jack of Hearts for my Jack & Coke. A decoration, the waitress tells me, in honor of the night's poker game. This is probably the first time I've smiled in days.

I sip my drink, hoping it will calm my shaking hands. A beautiful brunette approaches me, a warm smile on her face. It's nice to be around people who are happy to see me. Even if they don't know who I am.

"Hi! You seem new...not seen you in here before. Pity you chose tonight...we've got the gunfight at the OK corral about to start...."

I extend my hand to her and hope I don't appear to be as nervous and out of place as I feel.

"Hi, I'm Grace."

She smiles and says her name is Uma. 

"No, this is my first time here. I kind of stumbled upon the place."

It's the truth...sort of. No reason to say 'I was drawn here by the man I'm stalking'. I've had enough of people looking at me like I'm crazy.

"I don't mind watching the 'gunfight'. Anything to beat the day I've had."

I glance over at the people congregating around the poker table. He's joined the game. Good, this will give me some time to pull myself together. I wonder if he would recognize me if he saw me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him getting up from the table. Oh no, is he leaving? No, this is worse...he's coming this way. I...I can't stay here. I was crazy for following him. Was I really planning to ask him why he was in my dream? God, that dream. This was a complete mistake. I have to get out of here. I stand to get up, but he's in front of me.

"Hey...wait...I want a word with you..."

Oh God, his voice is the same. His face, his eyes...damn, he even smells the same. My thoughts are suddenly filled with images of the dream. No, not a dream. They're too vivid to have been a dream, they feel more like tangible memories of something we experienced...together. Please let him remember. I can't explain what happened. Maybe he can.

"Have we met before? I can't seem to place your face but..."

What? He doesn't remember? I can't believe it...no, wait, yes I can. Why would a man I met only in a dream remember me? How can I remember him so clearly? This is just so...crazy. What is wrong with me?

I shake my head. "I don't think you would believe me if I told you..."

 

The featured song: Breakaway by Kelly Clarkson from 'Breakaway'

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