Brainstorm. Sheldon J.D. Cohen

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      BRAINSTORM

      SHELDON COHEN

      Copyright 2012 Sheldon Cohen,

      All rights reserved.

      Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com

       http://www.eBookIt.com

      ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-0745-6

      No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

      IMPORTANT NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

      "This is my third version of Brainstorm. The first one (my initial writing effort) I wrote before 2003 and managed to get published by a California publisher who promptly, after printing a few hundred copies, declared bankruptcy. My luck! As my first attempt at writing, I can safely say the book was not very good. But I persisted and rewrote it as I slowly learned my craft. The second version, under the title Possessed, is currently in softcover print. Brainstorm, the current and third version in ebook form, represents my latest effort at revision. I believe this third version is the final and best version in my evolution as a writer."

      -- Sheldon Cohen

      CHAPTER 1

      George Gilmer bolted upright gasping for breath as his heart pounded and sweat trickled down his forehead. Awakened from a horrible dream, he glanced at the clock on the dresser…7:10. He took a deep breath trying to clear his mind full of jumbled disconnected thoughts.

      Why would I have a dream like that, he thought? About fire? Could it be because of the recent fire at work? But that was a tiny one controlled by a few squirts of a fire extinguisher. It’s funny how little events become bigger with dreams. The worst part was where the flames trapped Gail and the girls.

      The fear he felt in his dream was as real as if he was there in the flesh; the look of terror on his two daughters’ faces, his wife’s panic. He hoped it would all fade from memory soon. He could still feel the smoke of the dream that seared his lungs and irritated his eyes. The power of the brain, he thought…amazing, but he was awake now and the sensations were still there. Why? Could this all be part of the way I’ve been feeling? Why have I been so tense and anxious lately? He thought back to before he was married and his future wife’s girlfriends used to refer to him as Mr. Tranquilizer. I sure as hell don’t feel calm like that now. Why the change?

      “George, what is it?” said Gail.

      The sound of his wife’s voice stunned him. He turned and looked at her sitting next to him in bed, his mouth and eyes wide open. No words came from his parted lips.

      “George?”

      “Uhh, nothing…I…” My God, he thought, that was the worst dream of my life. What’s happening?

      “You look so weird. Is anything wrong?” said his worried wife.

      “I…uh, I had a bad dream…that’s all, just a bad dream. It’s nothing.”

      His facial expression concerned her. “What was it about?

      “Just stupid…that’s all. It’s, it’s… I’m late. I better get moving.” He shook his head, turned, got out of bed and stumbled toward the bathroom.

      Gail noted the abnormal gait, but before she could say anything, he had closed the bathroom door. Although unsteady on his feet, he took a shower. As he shaved, he observed himself in the mirror. I look okay, he thought. I hope I never have a dream like that again. He shuddered as he dressed in his work clothes and went down to the kitchen where his wife was making breakfast.

      “I’ll just take a piece of toast. I’m late,” he said as he rushed out, leaving his wife to ponder his unusual behavior. “Take some milk,” she said as he faded out of sight

      He could not forget the unusual dream at work, and it effected his concentration to the extent that he cut a two by four too short to fit. Damn, he thought, when the hell have I ever screwed up like that before? No one saw, he said to himself. He redid the cut with another two by four and resolved the problem. He completed the rest of the day’s work without mishap.

      He picked at his food that evening at dinner and noted his wife staring at him. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

      He shrugged his shoulders. “Funny. My stomach’s kind of queasy tonight.”

      “Anything else? You looked a little unsteady on your feet this morning.”

      “No, that’s all; just sort of a dull pain right here in the pit of my stomach. I’m walking okay. Work was no problem.”

      “You’re not eating. Doesn’t it taste good?”

      “No, it’s good. I’m not too hungry, that’s all.”

      “First time I ever heard that from you,” she smiled.

      “Anyhow, I better go downstairs. I got work to do.”

      He went to the basement where he started working on a fireplace mantelpiece. His wife, startled again at his abrupt departure, could only wonder as to this sudden change in her husband’s routine the last few days.

      His reputation was spreading by word of mouth from satisfied customers. No sooner did he finish one mantel then he started on another. He worked on these whenever he had the time from his regular work for a large Chicago construction firm. He loved all aspects of carpentry, but the fine, detailed work required to make items such as mantle pieces and tables or chairs was his favorite.

      He was an average student through grade and high school, but he excelled in art. Every chance he got he would work in his finished workshop basement stocked with power tools, easels, paintbrushes, oils, watercolors and whatever necessary to feed his artistic cravings. When finished with his current task he went upstairs to bed. Gail was already asleep.

      He awakened the next morning feeling as if he needed more sleep. Damn, is it morning already? I feel like I just went to bed, he thought. He went to the bathroom, stared at himself in the mirror, noticed dark rings under his eyes and messed up hair. Must have had a restless sleep, he thought. He cut himself shaving and placed a piece of tissue on the blood. At breakfast, he noted that his appetite still was not what he thought it should be. He picked at his food.

      Gail said to him, “Am I going to have to start shaving you?”

      “Ha, ha, funny,” he answered.

      “I still can’t believe you weren’t hungry last night. Are you sure dinner was okay?”

      “It was great. I just didn’t have any appetite,” he said, managing a weak smile as he glanced up from his plate.

      “You mentioned a queasy stomach.”

      “It’s nothing. My stomach was upset, but I’m good now.”

      “You usually wolf everything down, but now you’re just picking. I don’t know. Seems to me, СКАЧАТЬ