Half Quasi: Seemingly, Apparently, But Not Really...

By Kim McGill

It is 2012 as Grace sways back and forth, miles away in her own world. Unfortunately, she works in an office dominated by Marlene, a condescending drill sergeant who has no patience for her antics. But what no one knows is that Grace is controlled by multiple personalities. Grace is proficient in dissociation. Although she often hides from cerebral logic, deep in a dream state where she is oblivious to reality, she is still able to function normally in the real world. But time goes on and as she descends further into a labyrinth of cognitive deception where night becomes day, wrong becomes right, and her visions become real and emotional, Grace’s actions, good and bad, are incessantly punished. With help from a psychiatrist, Grace finally learns what’s been living in her head as her life plunges into something far beyond anything she could have ever imagined. In this psychological drama, a young woman trapped between reality and another world sets out on a quest to learn why, with help from a psychiatrist.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Oct 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781483488677

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MCGILL

Copyright © 2018 Kim Mcgill.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-8868-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-8867-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018909125

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 10/05/2018

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book was possible because of struggles—and doable because of you!

When I reached out, you were there. When I rambled, you listened. When I was inflated, you brought me down to size.

You are my family, my sons, my dad, my friends, of course those who disputed me and those who left me. You guided me with better perspective and gave me notable tools to work with. You are recognized and appreciated.

And to my sisters, I admire each of you dearly. Your resilience to rise above the things you live through is a grace far beyond any strength I’ve known. We’re all in this life together. You are my heroes.

Thank you to Lulu Publishing for your editing points, Jane Friedman’s online courses, Steve Maraboli’s inspiring words and behavioural techniques, and Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia—what would I do without you!

To my mother, Starr, you are the brightest in my sky.

To judge me is to formally introduce you into my world.

Hello.

Do you see the pretty flowers?

Yes, well, when the last one falls from the wall

And all that’s left is sanity,

How, then, will you recognize your next move

In a crazy world?

The difference between your crazy and my crazy is that you don’t think you’re crazy

—Dr. Steve Maraboli

CHAPTER 1

The Awakening

March 6, 2012

Fluorescent lights flickered overhead in waves as the room swelled of weightless alteration. At once the entire room shot up in a swirl. Junk from the left, debris from the right, all of it flew past the uncertain peripheral with lightening speed and forward where dark shadows formed and folded, split from their shady cloaks into hollow live-wired orbs. Elves on a pinwheel, so they seemed, they popped with limbs, cracked and squealed then dropped in rotation the eddy’s credible mutation.

She remained stoical, unaffected by skepticism and watched as fragmented stragglers were zapped by the static flames. Heavy hitters fused and razed up against its incredible bulk. No fixture was left untouched, no fortification was strong enough. Everything was stretched from conformity, her mind, the room, all objects consumed into layers of quick jolts, tailspins, and transient perils. Sparks flew, and shards of colors exploded before it snapped its tail from gravity’s grip.

At once, it was up in the air—steady, hovering over what was once methodical, purposely maimed at the nook of a porthole. It bulged, then compressed, exhaled, then gone! Just like that, as if extracted from this world and sucked out with a syringe, it was swallowed by the hollow.

Go. Just go. The words fell drearily from her lips into a distant realm.

Finally the mayhem was forced from sight and sound, replaced with certain tranquility where beneath this veil of silence Grace sat motionless - not forsaken but replenished and stripped of fear. She bowed her weary head, hung her shoulders, and deeply inhaled fresh molecules of change.

From somewhere deep in her mind, through voyages stoked with oddities and fleeting transformations liberation would come to pass. She knew it. She sensed it. She watched as fountains of sea-blue water flow through crystal portals in long, spherical ripples down into a pool on the ground. Heaps of aquatic arcs rushed in with changing momentum. Diminutive tides pushed up against the floorboards, receded in slight then swirled in gradual heaves, swelling lightly around her ankles. With soft circular movement the water caressed at her feet, delivering a quake of warm bubbles up her spine, over the base of her neck and shoulders, then down her arms and out through the prickles in between the hairs. Her body was engulfed in pleasure, enriched with oxygen and renewed vitality.

Could it get any better? Oh yes. In fact, the stranger the prodigy, the less distressed she felt.

When the last droplet of water fell from the wall, from somewhere beneath a smooth interior copper finish, the paint crumbled like a flaky pastry. A swarm of dusty particles swirled in the air, arc over loop, infinity after eight, swooped to a peak, then trailed off and vanished.

There stood a book, larger than life, and in the fold of two pages, a sprout.

Oh, please let it be a palm! Grace held her breath in certain anticipation of what was to come next. Let it be the beach! The ocean and warm sand, trees and dolphins! Oh my …

And there it was, her favorite expedition embellished into a world that bore no resistance to the unimaginable. Majestic canary palm trees flourished easily into three- dimensional botanical Arecaceae. Within seconds, hundreds of them marked their standard height of towering monocots staged with long, robust necks below crowns of evergreen leaves. Showy feathers hung in a gentle sway amid their rapid evolution.

From beyond these lofty beauties whitecaps rippled out into an ocean of smooth, dark cellophane to where black fins popped in pairs. Several of them joined in parade as they burst through the water’s surface and up into full-grown bottlenose dolphins. They split from their counterpart, one this way, the other that way, apart in arcs of rhythmic aquatic play.

Bravo! Bravo! she cheered and reached to touch her best performance ever!

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Knock it off! Marlene slapped her hand from her face.

Grace swayed at the hips, charmed by a surreal sense of being, powerless to recognize the impervious, as would be the unsuspecting venomous snake gripped by the elusive pungi. She reached up yet again, undisturbed from the sphere of reality, carefully as though to touch something of delicacy. Oh, so beautiful, she whispered.

I said knock it off! Marlene snapped. Stop touching me, you fool! Her brows crunched together. Where is it? she demanded and then clicked her fingers, the middle and thumb together, inches from her eyes. Earth to Grace!

Snap. Snap!

Hello? Are you in there? Ugh, she huffed. She stood back, threw her hand in the air, and watched in disbelief as Grace swayed in continuous back-and-forth motion, miles away, dazed and supple like a drugged hippie without a care in the world.

The words just flew from her mouth. Enough already! Woodstock is long gone, honey. Time for you to step out of the groovy wagon and get back to the real world! C’mon, let’s go, Grace. Wake the hell up!

Grace arched her back and shoulders, then sat straight up.

"Oh, hello. So you are in there, Marlene carped. I trust you can hear me now. Her hands on her hips, she demanded, The itinerary, where is it? Without a second in between, she struck the same chord twice. Well? Where is it?" Still no answer.

This would be the longest span in her patience, which was far less than the tolerance of an elastic band to begin with. Time’s up! Marlene snapped. I’ve had enough of this idiotic circus. This—she bobbed her hand in between six inches of air, up and down— whatever game you’re playing is nothing more than your feeble attempt to dodge even the simplest miniscule task. It’s over. I’m done with you. Do you hear me?

Her arms flew apart from her hips as if propelled at the pits. Then she bent down into Grace’s face and whispered with a heavy undertone, You knew I needed those schedules today. You pathetic little freak! And once again—she tapped her index finger several times on Grace’s forehead—once again you decided that a trip to no-man’s-land was more important; to float off somewhere on another one of your mind-blowing trips was more important than the job I pay you to do! Well, this is it for you, Grace. This is it, your final goodbye. I hope it was worth it. She sprung up over Grace and threw her hands in orchestration, exasperated with Grace’s inert ignorance and quiet sonata.

She turned to everyone in the room. Well … you can all see it right there—she pointed at Grace—see her with your own eyes that she’s out of her godforsaken mind! Yep, just look at her with that stupid little grin on her face.

Marlene seized the papers spewed over Grace’s desk and continued to desecrate her in a wicked tirade as if blasphemy were her only tongue. You’re a spaced-out idiot! Every damn day, every day, every day, every day you act the same! Trust you with an important project, just one … one simple task, and this is the crap you pull. All of a sudden, you know nothing? Typical of you, Grace. So typical! You show absolutely no fidelity. No credibility. Not even an ounce of concentration! Well, congratulations! You’ve achieved superb recognition for being the utmost dunce on the planet! She snatched the last paper, turned from the desk, and stormed off.

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The horn sounded. Grace scrunched her skirt and ran back up onto the upper deck of the MS Maasdam vessel. With one hand on the rail, she raised the other to her mouth, puckered, and kissed, then flung endearment out onto the onlookers. As if she were the alluring Sophia Loren, she wielded her white-laced bonnet several times, flipped it up and down, then topped it back onto her head. From her tongue rolled a Spanish dialect. Adiós de tata, nos vemos el pendejo. Then she repeated in English, Farewell and goodbye; see you later.

Off she went, setting for sail on another adventure, this one from the dock of Barcelona, Spain, and onward through the Atlantic/Mediterranean voyage. Everything was as planned with nothing but clear skies and smooth sailing from here on out.

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None of the other twenty-eight women on the fourth floor of the Traverse building were as enamored as Grace or as crazed as Marlene. The entire office was weighed down in silence under the hammering foot march that reverberated from Marlene’s combat Nubucks: one-two, one-two, one-two, faster and harder as she stormed from Grace’s cubicle, down past the row of desks, fully charged like a thoroughbred hothead.

Marlene was thick and robust, just over five foot eight, and tomboyish, she could hold her own quite well. Well enough, in fact, that even though she was not held in high esteem, she fictitiously believed her image was intimidating enough to grant her as much. She was polished and coarse with jet-black hair pulled back into a narrow pigtail just below her neckline, the front pinned tightly back against her scalp. No bangs, no center parts or side styles, no colorful accessories of any kind—just bobby pins to hold her hair in place. Every detail and fine line of her features was exposed to arouse anyone’s imagination. With sunken cheeks anchored up tight, visibly stretched like that of an eagle, it would appear her head was too big, unless, of course, she were a pterodactyl, in which case her beaked nose elongated from beneath recessed dark brown eyes perched in an arc above her pierced lips, would have surely mark an eerie, sizable resemblance. She was daunting, straitlaced, with an eye on her prey at all times.

As a tyrannical person of power, Marlene was stuck somewhere under a chin-up and yardstick supremacy. She dominated her office with strict military rule, unrefined and condescending, a megadeath overzealous but oppressed drill sergeant. Merits? She had none. And for everyone else to be of value—only if lips were suctioned to her rear end did a person have the advantage of escaping her line of fire. Her boisterous attacks, once ignited, found their mark every time. One insult after another in a blaze not only deafening but fueled of compressed frequencies were airlifted by a spring-loaded rarefaction and aimed at the intended target with explosive precision— enough potency to cause significant morale damage. This madcap had on many occasions sent Grace packing for the next flight out to some serene twilight zone, and clearly this had been one of those times.

It seemed hard to imagine such a tyrant would have a crew of faithful employees, most of whom were related or somehow affiliated through a linked source and all of whom were no doubt intimidated. No one escaped this reaper.

In continuation of her ridicule against Grace, Marlene jousted, Just look at her! All goofy-eyed and lethargic! How many times have I told her to maintain focus?

All the young ladies, not one over thirty, remained still. No one made a sound. Marlene stopped midstride, always delighted by how her presence could hush a room but this time shocked by the sound of silence. She baited the question with a piercing hook, raised her brow, and insisted that Shelia confirm her affirmation. Well?

Oh … um, yes … yes, you’ve told her many times. I heard you, dear Sheila agreed.

And there’s the suction cup, one in every office. Now what in the world would anyone do without this pearly-white-skinned gem and her darkest chocolate-dipped rosebud nose? Marlene adored her in the most shameful of ways. She was such the sweetest little brownnoser, satisfied with meager praise for having surrendered her impulsive needs in exchange for her loyalty. Her rewards of immaterial treats like coffee, privy conversations, and scanty certificates remained merely pendulous gifts from a self-imposed god requiring nothing more than simpleminded followers; dear, sweet Sheila fit that bill for Marlene.

Sheila! Shhh, one lady hushed. Don’t provoke her.

Yes, ex-sssss-actly! Marlene affirmed.

Great. Here she goes off on another rant, another lady said quietly.

I’ve warned her numerous times! This will be the last!

Most of the other ladies remained apprehensive. Some were visibly disappointed and shamed with the level of spite Marlene displayed. Having her for a boss came at an inhumane cost but one ironically appreciated as well. Though her strength was anything refined, her abrasive qualities fostered superior privileges of higher income and greater medical coverage, and each of her employees benefitted favorably—more advantageously than any other job in comparison. The ladies found it easier to let her howl than to apply reasonable tact. It was usually short-lived anyway.

All heads bobbed up and down. Whispers of inaudible gibberish filtered as they watched Marlene march onward, straight ahead to her office.

Once through the doorway, she turned and bellowed one last harangue. Nothing good comes of stupidity. This office was built on a cooperative working relationship! I give you the task; you do it. Simple! It’s called cooperation. Pointing to Grace, she insisted, She is the contrary and will be the example of consequence! Send her to my office when she snaps out of it!

The door swung from her grip, hard and fast for the first millisecond. Then it slowed to a crawl, hinged by a mechanically controlled checker.

That dictator must piss her right off, one of the ladies whispered.

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At the bow of the ship, Grace stood front and center with her arms stretched out on both sides, her head titled back in a most delightful position as the iron-clad liner sailed forward. She inhaled a long drawn-in breath, followed by an exceptionally rewarding yawn and then a cough, and another, followed by a few more.

One after the other, a sudden torrent of uncontrolled muscle spasms ripped through the thin barrier of mucus lining her trachea. She choked and gulped as cough after harsh cough blew through her desperate, short-winded attempts to replenish air into her lungs, nearly fainting from a lack of oxygen before suddenly the loony petit mal exploded into a twilight phosphene of stars. Then after a few less erratic reflexes, finally the aquatic misfit subsided.

It’s all good, she gasped while flapping her hands. Don’t anyone panic. It’s good. I’m all right.

Her words were the least bit sarcastic, rather considerate of anyone uprooted in attempt to provide first aid if needed. Though it was possible no one else was on deck, she couldn’t see past the stars or hear outside the deafening tone in her ears to know any different. She forced down a few gulps of air, cleared her throat, and then burped up any leftover tics.

Oh, pardon me, she apologized, slightly flush. Much to her relief, it was over. Grace squinted several times to drain the water from her heavily soiled eyes. And when the tears were gone, so too was the boat. Nothing familiar came to sight. No horn. No water. No warm mist in the air. Just the sweat from her brow spraying from her lashes with every flutter.

Surely there’s some mistake, she thought, her eyes rolling beneath closed lids as if in search for recollection. She began to count. One, two, three, four … Was I just not sailing? She opened her eyes, unable to make it to five. Ugh, not again!

With her feet planted firmly on solid ground, the place was anything but water. It was her workstation. She was parked in her swivel chair, across from her desk, front and center across from her computer.

Yep, this is my workspace all right. She pointed around. That’s my desk. Those are my bulletins. And everything else in this little room is mine too. She reached over the side arms of her chair and gripped tightly. Isn’t this lovely … no ocean or beach, no dolphins, just this cubicle; then peered out from her office, and of course, she muttered, all those eyes staring are just for me. With a half grin she looked away.

I can’t believe this. The possibility of having done something so completely ridiculous and yet no recollection of having done anything at all was a sting she’d felt a few times before. It never got easier.

The clock on her computer was the same as the one on her phone and just as the one on the wall, all of them seven minutes past ten with a whole five hours at the office yet to go.

It’s going to be a long day. She bowed her head in thought and stroked the back of her neck, rubbing toward her scalp and massaging gently to ease the tension. She patted her cheeks, dabbed her lids—careful not to mess her mascara—then simply sat still. Not a sound could be heard. She tugged at her plugged ear; they popped, and a sudden wave of high-pitched noises filtered in through the canals.

Oh, she giggled, that’s much better. I can hear again.

Her cubicle was small with two walls, one partition to the left in between her and the hallway and the other straight ahead from the boss’s office. It seemed the perfect position. Anyone oncoming was blocked, while she could enjoy the open concept of all her peers at the right.

She adjusted her chair in line with the computer and keyboard, wiggled her fingers, and prepared to resume … what? She stared blankly at a spotless desk, cleaned of all papers, binders, and folders.

Where did it go? Both hands openly stretched out in front as if to stress in sign language the loss of her possessions. My paperwork, where is it? It was here a moment ago. I put it here myself. Her eyes darted side to side, under the table, behind the chair, in the cubbies of the file sorter atop her desk. She could recall from here to the boat to the night before … But nothing in between? Did I throw it in the water?

Oh, for heaven’s sake, she snapped, that’s ridiculous! There was no water!

Not wanting to attract any more unnecessary attention, she fumbled in her cubicle as if to appear busy and then resumed with whatever task was uploaded onto her computer desktop.

Grace! GRACE!

The deafening screech sounded as if through an air horn, with enough startling force Grace flew from her keyboard to the back of her chair and off into a hyper-glide wheelie. It nearly tossed her from the armrest before hitting the printer behind. Her legs V-cocked and anchored to the ground, her hands clenched onto the sides of the chair, she braced herself. What! What’s going on? she asked.

"Grace! I said my office now!"

"Okay." Okay, okay … what in the world? As if rattled by Hiroshima, she couldn’t make sense of the noise or