Identity Crisis

By Annagail Lynes

A man who looks like Jessa "Peacock" Masters' dead husband has been contacting her. Could it be Ben? Could Ben be alive? If Ben is dead, who is this man posing as Ben? Why would this man want to take over a dead man's life? And what does he want from Jessa and Nate? Is he there to destroy Jessa and Nate's marriage or is this man's plot more sinister than just breaking them up?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781312384385

Book preview

Stolen (2)

~one~

Colonel, the Lieutenant Colonel just came in here.  He badgered one of my engineers to tears.  Over a lousy report that the Lieutenant Colonel only assigned him five minutes earlier, Major Annie Ryan, my Chief Engineer, advised me over my CommLet, a wrist-worn communication device.

Oh, like that’s news.  I rolled my eyes as I straightened my black flight coveralls.  I laid my head on the floor of the facilities in my office.  I felt the coolness on my cheek as my stomach tossed and turned as if it were a ship lost at sea during a hurricane.

Not even a minute later, Troy Riley,  my third-in-charge, called.  He lamented, Colonel, the Lieutenant Colonel is getting progressively worse.  He’s moody, sullen, and he is criticizing everything.  You have to do something about him.

At times like this, I really hated being the commander of the Liberty, the flagship of the Freedom Alliance.

All the branches of the armed services joined forces to create the Freedom Alliance in 2100.  Although each branch functioned on its own, each came under the rules and regulations set forth by the Freedom Alliance.

However, four years ago, a group of Freedom Alliance members no longer agreed with those guidelines.  Instead, they wanted to create a one-world, totalitarian government.  The group, who called themselves the Crimson Fleet, broke away from the Freedom Alliance.  When it was clear that they were setting their plan into motion, the Freedom Alliance had no choice but to go to war with them.

My dream, since age five, was to be a StarVessel commander, but on days like this, when everybody wanted something from me, I wanted to chuck it all, to pack up my family and head home to DC, where I could focus on my second career full-time.

My husband, the Lieutenant Colonel, and I had a secret that we kept from most of the crew.  Not only were we commissioned Freedom Alliance officers, we were also trained Federal Agents.  We worked for an intelligence organization simply known as the Intergalactic Intelligence Bureau (I.I.B). 

Colonel, this is Doctor Dakota.  About the Lieutenant Colonel... the Liberty’s psychiatrist started over my CommLet.

Why can’t you people leave me alone?  I know something’s wrong with him.  I just don’t know what, I screamed.  I ripped the CommLet off my wrist and threw it across the room. 

I knew it!  If you called me for help, Peak, I knew you had to be going through hell, I heard a familiar female voice remark.

I glanced up to see a woman dressed in black flight coveralls who wore not an ounce of fat on her tall, lean frame.  She leaned over to pick up my CommLet.  I caught a glimpse of the bald two-month-old in the carrier on her back. She lightened her otherwise thick auburn hair that fell into curls around her chest.  She had daring dark eyes that could burrow into my soul and a petite, upturned nose that she liked to wrinkle when she felt she was being lied to.  She maintained flawless, creamy skin and a slim figure despite having a baby two months ago. Also, a Federal Agent, she referred to me by my code name: Peacock. 

Bri, I muttered while dropping my face back onto the floor.

Yes, it’s me–Sabrina Stetson Graham to the rescue, she asserted, gesturing behind her, joined by my able-bodied assistant, Preston Graham, Junior.

She bent down next to me and pulled me to my feet.  You obviously aren’t feeling well.  Just let me take care of you.

When I opened my mouth to protest, she closed it and wagged her thumb at me.  No ands, ifs or buts.  She tilted her head to the side and added, Plus you’d be doing me a favor.

A favor?

Yeah, I’ve been having a bit of the ‘postpartum-depression, Mommy-needs-more-sleep blues,’ as you call them.

I nodded as I let her lead me out of the facilities, through the doors of my office into the waiting area.  People of all shapes and sizes, female and male, officers and non-officers filled the seats that lined its walls.

Bri cleared her throat and announced, looking around the room, Everyone, listen up!  The Colonel will not be seeing anyone today, or for the next week or so. Starting right now, I will be in charge.

The people grumbled and complained to each other and to us.

Colonel, is she right, my company clerk, Lieutenant Melissa Thornhart, asked, rising out of her black executive chair.  She ran her hand over the pants of her black flight coveralls.

Lieutenant Thornhart had a youthful appearance.  Many people mistook her for a teenager, or a person in their early twenties, but I knew better.  Her red hair reflected her fiery, bull-dogged tenacity.  She had this knack for knowing what I needed before I required it, tending not only to the details of the Liberty but to every aspect of my life. Her desk stood to the right of my office doors.  People who wanted to meet with me had to get past my very organized, very efficient company clerk.  Although she could put people at ease with her smile and innocent eyes, she refused to let anyone through who she felt posed a danger to me physically or emotionally.  Though small in appearance, I had seen the Lieutenant tackled two-hundred-pound men to the ground who tried to get past her. Without her to manage the reports, the ordering of supplies and day-to-day details of command, I would never have time to run the Liberty.  Instead, I would be buried in mountains of bureaucratic paperwork. 

Actually, yes, I confirmed, meeting Lieutenant Thornhart’s gaze.  I will still be on board, I explained, rubbing my stomach, but until I’m feeling better, Lieutenant Colonel Graham will be handling things.

Lieutenant Thornhart studied my face for a moment, pressing her lips together.  I knew you weren’t feeling well, but with all the flowers and gifts that you have been receiving lately... she stammered as she lowered herself back into her seat. 

Flowers and gifts, Bri prodded as she touched my shoulder.

It’s the reason I asked you here, I apprised Bri, casting her a weak smile.

Lieutenant Thornhart glanced at her hands and looked up again, confessing, I just assumed you were having an affair and that you felt guilty about it.

I shared an amused look with Bri before I surmised, And when the Lieutenant Colonel started acting funny, you just figured he found out about it. She nodded. I would never cheat on my husband.  I love him, I said with grave deliberation, even when he is brooding and acting like a jerk.

Bri and Lieutenant Thornhart laughed.

Colonel...I am so sorry, the Lieutenant admitted, running her fingers through her hair. 

I returned, holding my stomach, Just promise me, next time, Lieutenant, you will come to me with your suspicions.

She nodded and gave me an involuntary smile.

In the meantime, refer everything to Lieutenant Colonel Graham, I directed the Lieutenant.  I turned to walk away, then spun back around on my heel. I charged, giving Lieutenant Thornhart a dismissive wave, Could you send a crib up to VIP Quarters Alpha?  That’s where she and Presto will be staying while they are here. As we moved out into the hallway, I faced Bri and wondered, Where are we going?

She ushered me down to the TravelTram and uttered, I’m going to take care of you.  Don’t fight it.  Just let me do this for you.

I acquiesced, following her to the TravelTram.  Curious to see what she had in mind.

What’s going on with you, Bri insisted as she dropped herself in a chair opposite me.  We sat at a table on the south side of Cougar’s, a little jazz club on the Victor Level of the Liberty. 

Shops of every shape and size–from boutiques to salons to gift shops populated the Victor Level, or what those on board the Liberty called the Mall.

I sipped the Vodka Martini that JonJon Rhemini, the manager of Cougar’s, brought me five minutes earlier.  I felt the familiar burn of the Vodka as it slid down my throat.  I smiled.  I traced the top of my glass with my finger.  Its contents looked like Vodka, tasted like Vodka, even smelled like Vodka, but it didn’t have the intoxicating effects of Vodka.

JonJon spent years creating a line of drinks that looked, smelled and tasted like their alcohol counterpart, minus the alcohol.  Only my partners, who owned the club, with me and a handful of others knew that Cougar’s sold no alcoholic beverages, and at least one of my partners didn’t know.

I watched Bri’s eyes suddenly focus on someone behind me. 

I craned my head to see our visitor: a man with dark hair that he cut to the end of his neck and bangs he combed to one side.  His black flight coveralls filled out his physique, which appeared more like a linebacker than a psychiatrist.  He sported a full beard that a lot of crewmembers found disconcerting. He appeared tough on the outside, yes, but with one look into his chocolate brown eyes, I could see glimpses of the gentleness, compassion and generosity I came to expect from my friend.  It showed up in the way he put his patients and friends at ease.  The way he cared for his wife, daughter and friends.  The way he committed himself to his faith.

I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation, Doctor Mitchell  Dakota advised me, nodding to Bri.  He explained, rubbing his chin, However, the crew has been complaining to me incessantly about the Lieutenant Colonel.

That would be my department, Bri interjected, standing.  She switched the baby carrier around to the front, rubbing Presto’s head.  She carefully sat back down.

Bri will be taking over for me for a week or so, I informed Mitch as I replaced my Martini on its napkin.  I turned to Bri and corrected, But the Lieutenant Colonel issue, I will take care of myself.

What’s up with him anyway, Bri asked while picking up her Collins glass.  She tasted her Sunset Island–a combination of pineapple juice, grape juice, lemon-lime soda and sugar syrup over ice.

Yeah, I’d like to hear the answer to that myself, Mitch agreed, slipping into an empty chair.  Facing me, he replied, as if as an afterthought, If that’s okay with you.

I raised the Privacy Wall, which enclosed us in a sound-proof bubble, preventing anyone from listening in on our conversation. I glanced at Bri, then at Mitch and revealed, All of a sudden, without warning, he has become cantankerous to the kids, to the crew, especially to me. I straightened out my black flight coveralls.  I have gone over the Overseer a thousand times, trying to figure out what caused his downward spiral, but I have no clue, I admitted, throwing up my hands.  You know how he usually is when he’s around me. 

The Overseer—a device that resembled a 21st Century remote control—allowed me to see any part of the Liberty—in present time as well as in the past, even allowing me to talk to the subject when necessary, such as when I ran my shift from my garden or quarters.

Yeah, he usually can’t keep his hands off you, Bri assented while scratching Presto’s back.

Apparently that phase is over.  I know he is going through something, but he refuses to talk about it, I lamented, leaned back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest.  I whispered, I know this is going to sound crazy, but it is almost as if he doesn’t love me anymore.

I’m sure that’s not true, Mitch voiced, putting his arm around me.

You know, Bri expressed, wagging her thumb at me, I bet I know what it is.  I tilted my head to gaze at her. She questioned, You have been receiving flowers and gifts from another man, right? When I nodded, she continued, Jag probably saw them and thought, like Lieutenant Thornhart did, that you were having an affair.

I wish Nate would give me a sign that he is still interested, I responded, letting out a deep sigh.  I miss my Jag.  No matter what else was happening in our lives, when I needed him, he was the one I could turn to, I raved, feeling the tears catch in my throat. 

Bri directed, catching Mitch’s eye, Doctor Dakota, would you mind leaving?  Peak and I need to discuss why she needs my help.

Mitch rose halfway out of his chair, about to hit the Privacy Wall, when I grabbed his hand.  I turned my head toward him and countered, No, stay!  I can use all the friends I can get right now.  I downed a little more than half of my Martini before I blurted out, I have a stalker.  He’s sending flowers, cards, gifts.  He’s messaging me, calling me and is imploring me to let him visit.

What aren’t you telling us?  If this was a simple stalking case, you wouldn’t need me, Bri protested.  Presto started to whimper.  Bri took him out of his carrier and put him to her shoulder, patting his back.

I retrieved the Overseer from the pocket of my coveralls.  As I activated it, a screen rose from within.  I programmed it to display my office two hours prior to our arrival at Cougar’s.

On the screen, my office came into view.  I sat behind my desk, in my executive chair, working on my report to General Graham, Bri’s husband.

A man appeared on my terminal.  He sported dark brown, wind-blown hair, piercing cappuccino-colored eyes, a tanned, strawberries and cream complexion and handsome, chiseled features. He wore a black, button-down shirt tucked in a pair of jeans.  The first two buttons of his shirt remained open, giving me a glimpse of his angel pendant.

Oh my, the man greeted, is it good to see you.  I’ll be working undercover a few more days, but after that, I’m coming to see my girls.

I deactivated the Overseer and closed my eyes, gesturing to the screen.  I concluded, Now...do you see my problem?

Peak, Bri managed after staring at the screen in numbed horror, that’s Ben.

Your dead husband?  That Ben, Mitch demanded, peering over at me.  His eyes pinched together.

I verified, opening my eyes as I slammed my fist on the table, Yeah, that’s the one.

Do you think that he is the real... Bri prodded, letting her voice trail off.

I don’t think so.  I mean I don’t feel the connection with him.  His eyes lack Ben’s gentleness, his strength, his love, I ranted as I stirred my Martini with a swizzle stick.  I stared into my glass and recanted, I suppose, it could be Ben.  I shook my head and determined, No, I don’t think so.  I saw him die.  I saw his lifeless body, but what if he somehow survived?

No wonder you are sick, Bri contended, pausing to sip her Sunset Island, going around in circles, gazing at me over the rim of her Collins glass, trying to figure out if this is Ben or isn’t Ben.

What if he did survive, I maintained, holding my stomach with both hands.  I felt the nausea heightening. 

I darted my eyes from Bri to Mitch and back again several times and complained, I love Nate.  I have a family with him.  I slammed my hands down on the table again and cried, What would that do to Nate?  To our family?  Oh no, what about Reggie?  Ben was her biological father.

"What about you, Jessa, Mitch rebuked, reaching over to pat my hand.  He peered into my eyes and wondered, What is this doing to you?"

While you discuss your feelings with him, I’ll be in the facilities, tending to Presto, Bri notified me as she stood.  She carried Presto a few feet away, where she marched into the facilities marked Ladies.

Ellie Simone-Madrid, the cropped blond-haired lead singer of the house band, stepped up to the microphone on the stage.  Her and the band practiced during the day, but people still seemed to wander in on their breaks and lunch periods to listen to the music, to enjoy the food and to just soak in the atmosphere.

Some day when I’m awfully low.  I will feel a glow just thinking of you, and the way you look tonight, Ellie started to croon.  She caught my eye and waved, knowing that The Way You Look Tonight was one of my all-time favorite songs.

When I first started the Freedom Alliance Academy, I used to frequent a jazz club in DC called the C-Sharp, which was, at the time, owned and operated solely by JonJon’s family. Ellie’s grandfather, Ziggy Simone, sang there every night, as he still did, and I would request he sing that song at least once a night, every night.

Mitch lowered the Privacy Wall and rose to his feet.  He offered me his hand and bid, Would you like to dance with me?

I put my hand in his and smiled.  Thank you, Kind Sir.  I believe I would, I answered, using the table’s edge to help me out of my chair.

Mitch led me out onto the dance floor.  Intertwining his fingers with mine, he spun me around to face him.  Did I hear Bri say you are sick, he questioned next to my ear while sashaying me around the floor.

I can’t sleep.  I can’t eat.  When I try, my stomach turns over.  I am nauseous all the time, I elaborated, raising my eyes to meet his.

He inched his head away from me and pressed, And Doctor Manning?  What does he have to say about this?  Lifting his eyebrows, he posed, Or haven’t you gone to see him?  He guided me past another couple who came close to colliding with us.

Oh, I’ve been to him.  Seven or eight times since this began.

And?  What did he say?

And he can’t find anything wrong with me.  He referred me to you.  He thinks I am a mental case.

You aren’t a mental case.  You know that, he reassured me, massaging my shoulders.  Still whirling me around, weaving me around those who dared to get too  close. I’m not surprised that you are manifesting physical symptoms, Mitch assessed, catching my eye, to deal with your confusion, your turmoil.  He examined my face and surmised, I bet you are having nightmares too, aren’t you?

Every time I go to sleep, I relive the crash, Mitch, and I wake up screaming.  My stomach did flip-flops, threatening to turn over at that very moment.

I watched Nate walk in the doors of Cougar’s in his black flight coveralls.  Even now, he made my heart pound and my knees weak.  He looked as if he had just stepped off a runway in Paris with his dark hair as somber as his mood.  He had a muscular physique, incredible cappuccino-colored eyes and an oh-so-handsome smile.

Nate hopped onto one of the stools at the bar and swung around to face the dance floor.  He locked eyes with me.  I searched his eyes.  Although I still felt the connection between us as strong as ever, what I saw in his eyes scared me.  I saw intense anger. I had seen him angry before.  When we were first partnered, he and I were both angry, but this was different somehow. 

What is your gut saying?  Mitch tightened his grip on my hand, then twirled me around a few times.

My gut?  It’s saying that this man who is stalking me isn’t Ben, I provided, keeping my eyes glued to Nate’s.

What if I just don’t want him to be Ben?  What if I just don’t want Ben to be alive because, I said with grave deliberation, I don’t want him destroying what I have with Nate. 

I glanced over at Mitch and raised, What if I am just being selfish, Mitch?

You?  Selfish?  I’ve known you for a long time.  You are anything but selfish.  In fact, you go out of your way to sacrifice your own needs for the needs of others.  He and I danced almost mechanically as Ellie neared the end of her song.      We became more engrossed in our conversation than our steps.

I’m not being selfless this time, Mitch.  I want my Jaguar–the only man I have ever been in love with. 

I ran my fingers through my hair.  I felt my heart break as I continued to watch my husband.  He sipped his Scotch neat while focusing on me. 

I voiced, struggling to keep my tone even, He is the only man that makes my heart pound and my knees weak when he walks into a room.  The only person I want to share my good and bad times with.  By the time I reached the end of the last sentence, I heard trembling in my voice.  My eyes whelmed up with tears.  I miss my Jag.  I blinked rapidly, trying to fight them .  I laid my cheek on Mitch’s shoulder to prevent Nate from seeing me cry.  After a few seconds, the tears overpowered my eyes, spilling down my cheeks.  Do you know how much I want a drink right now?  I mean the real stuff.  Just enough to numb the pain.

Mitch gave me a sidelong glance.  But what about the promise  you made to Cougar and Amy?

You know the bottle of Vodka in my office?  The last drink I took with Cougar?

He widened his eyes and gasped.  You didn’t!

No, I didn’t, but I came, I proclaimed, holding my index finger and thumb less than an inch apart, this close.  I spent two hours the other day just staring at it, debating whether or not to drink it. The tears now poured down my face while I confessed, I packed the bottle up and sent it to my Dad.  I told him to put it in my safe deposit box.

Mitch took a step back and pressed his hands down on my shoulders.  I’m proud of you.  He wrapped his arms around me. 

I still want a drink.  My first instinct when things are too painful for me is to take a drink.

Mitch moved away from me again.  After I straightened up my head, I regarded him. Mitch cradled my face, wiping