Team Whisper

By Inelia Benz

Prepare for a mind-bending journey as Josh, a man with extraordinary abilities, chooses to bury his powers in a world that deems them 'psychotic.' Living a life of normalcy and drowning in a haze of powerlessness and alcohol, he must now confront the chilling reality that remembering his true self could endanger everyone he holds dear.

Brace yourself for a thrilling adventure where amnesia becomes the battleground for Earth's fate! Can Josh rise above his forgotten talents and save the world from sinister forces?

Discover a heart-pounding tale of forgotten powers, mortal dangers, and an epic battle for humanity!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9781304619495

Book preview

Chapter One

SQUIRREL

Something was banging at the window. He opened his eyes, rubbed them, focused and looked to his right. A huge raven.

Weird. The ravens in the desert were mostly a smaller type, Chihuahuan.  This one was easily over two feet beak to tail.

He closed his eyes again and felt sobriety trying to wake him up.

Not today, he said out loud and sat up, pushed his long hair off his eyes and looked around. There was no raven at the window.

To his left, a naked woman, about his age, in her early thirties. Ah shit, he moaned and got out of bed. No pants.

Shit.

He grabbed some pants from the trailer floor and smelled them. Yup, they had a few more wearings in them.

He put some water in the pan and onto the stove. Coffee, he thought.

In the distance, behind majestic buttes that had been photographed a thousand times, the sun started to rise.

He poured the hot water into two cups that were mostly clean and added some vodka to one of them. He took a good few gulps and added some more vodka, and a bit more coffee, then walked to the bed at the back of the trailer.

The woman was getting dressed. Sandra? Yes, her name was Sandra. It was good manners to remember the woman’s name.

Here you go, some coffee. He said, handing her the second cup.

She smelled it and handed it back. It’s OK, I have some coming.

He was puzzled.

My ride is coming. I ordered some coffee too. I got one for you as well. Black.

Oh, yeah. Well, He pulled the old dusty curtain out of the way so she could look out. I don’t think anyone is coming.

The woman, Sandra, looked out, Oh shit. Where the fuck are we? She looked back at him, oh. She said as it dawned on her that she may have slept with the wrong guy. Are we at the reservation? Are you an Indian?

Native American. He corrected her.

You don’t look Indian.

Native American.

Oh right, yes, sorry. I forgot the politically correct term. Yes, you don’t look Native American.

Josh Tracksbears. He said and bowed.

Sobriety knocked on his brain, so he took another swig of ‘coffee’.

Those rides don’t come this far into the rez. I’ll drive you to town.

She got up, reached under the window and he saw she had been charging her phone. She pulled the charger out, put it in her handbag and looked at the phone screen.

It’s on its way.

He didn’t know what to say or do. Usually, he would drive the woman home or town, back to the bar sometimes, but waiting with her in his trailer for a ride that would never arrive, was a first.

He walked back to the kitchen and looked in the fridge, wondering if he should try to make her breakfast or something. There was nothing edible in there. He closed the fridge door.

That’s no way to treat a woman, his grandmother’s voice rang in his ears. He took another swig from his cup.

Oh, the tracker just vanished. I don’t see the car getting closer anymore. The woman said.

Listen, Sandra, it’s best that I take you back. If we see a car coming the other way, I’ll flash them, and we can check to see if it's your ride.

It’s Ruth. My name is Ruth. But it was sweet of you to think you remembered my name. Very cute. Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but maybe you can tell a girl you are an In… Native American next time, before you bring them out to the middle of nowhere.

Tall, dark and handsome doesn’t do it anymore, huh. He said, but the woman didn’t respond. She was clearly nervous and agitated. She kept glancing back at her phone, as though watching it might make her ride appear again.

Josh started feeling claustrophobic. He took another swig and stepped out of the trailer. The sun was a fist above the horizon now. He felt panic rise inside him. The woman followed him out, putting on her sandals on the steps behind him.

He started walking toward his truck, an old Ford F100 with a three on the tree.

There it is! Shouted the woman, Ruth, behind him.

In the distance there was a plume of dust, getting closer. Whomever that was, was driving fast. Over 100 miles per hour. And having fun. He went back to the trailer and sat next to Ruth on the steps.

Listen, she started, I don’t remember coming here. I remember us dancing at the bar and that’s it. It’s nothing new, she added, I am sure we had a great time.

Why would you say that?

I don’t know, I’m not used to hanging out this long with guys in the morning, you know? I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I was trying to compliment you or something.

He noticed needle marks on the back of her knees, on her arms, and her neck.

Shit. He thought. He didn’t want to know about her story, he didn’t want to know she was an addict, or hear of her habits or what she did in the morning.

He took another swig and let the perception of details become unimportant. He nodded and looked at the car which was closer now. It was a brand new black Jaguar F-Type. As it got closer, it looked like a wild animal on a hunt. It eventually reached them, slowed down and came to a full stop.

Every cell in Josh’s body started ringing alarm bells. He took another swig. Something unfamiliar, unlikely, was happening and his PTSD was kicking in. That’s what the quacks had told him his symptoms, voices and visions were.

The door opened, a short, thin woman got out, long black hair tied behind her back, sunglasses, carrying a tray with two hot drinks. She was holding a large, iced coffee in her other hand. She walked up to them, handed Ruth the coffees and took a long drink from the straw in the ice coffee.

Ruth? She asked.

Lorena?

The woman nodded. I’m your ride. She said, finishing the ritual.

The sunglasses then turned to him. He sat, unmoving, staring at her like she had come out of some alternative reality where Jags, with attractive young women inside, drove onto the rez and talked to him. Technically, she hadn’t talked to him yet.

A bark brought him out of his trance.

Do you mind if I let my dog out? She asked him.

Go ahead, he said, and watched the woman, who was dressed in black pants and shirt, go to the Jag.

She opened the back door and a fully grown standard poodle jumped out and started the important work of sniffing everything. The dog had pompoms on its head, tail and legs. It looked ridiculous.

What’s her name?

His name is Fufu.

Josh shook his head disapprovingly.

Suddenly Fufu bolted and ran into the distance.

The sunglasses turned back to Josh, you’ve got squirrels around here? I didn’t think there were squirrels in the desert.

Josh choked on his coffee.  Images that had plagued his mind for years flashed before him. Him, running with four other kids, in black armored suits, he could feel the weight of equipment on his back, and he carried what looked like a sci-fi gun. A voice, the same voice as this driver had, saying, keep up Squirrel, you can do it!

You can ride in the front, the woman told Ruth, opening the passenger door. My dog takes the back.

I didn’t think you drivers were allowed to bring dogs in your cars. Ruth said.

We drivers don’t come onto the rez either. But here we are. You can always refuse the ride and try to get someone else in here.

No, I don’t mind dogs. I was just surprised.

Josh watched Fufu the cartoon poodle disappear into the distance.

He wanted them to leave, but he couldn’t exactly make them go until the dog got back.

The woman walked around to the driver’s door, opened it, put down her iced coffee inside and pulled out a leash.

Not much good would that do. The dog was gone. He thought.

He felt his senses heightened and his sight focused on her hands. She was doing something with her hands, almost like typing or drawing in the air. He then saw strands of energy all around. Strands on the woman, the Jag, himself, Ruth, all of them. The rocks, the sky, the desert, strands were everywhere. He saw the woman grab one tiny little strand among all of them and pull on it. He followed the strand into the distance, and saw it ended on the dog, who was now running back.

I guess the squirrel got away, she said, emphasizing the word squirrel.

He got up off the steps and back into the trailer, closing the door behind him. He grabbed the bottle of vodka and drank over half of it. He held onto the edge of the kitchen cabinet, expecting to pass out. For an alcoholic, he didn’t really have much tolerance to alcohol and half a bottle was guaranteed to put him out.

After a few minutes the Jags’ engine started, and he heard it leave his awareness.

He didn’t pass out. He took another few swigs and finally felt the floor hit his face.

Chapter Two

LAUNDRY

He could use the Laundry Mat at the rez for free. It was a laundromat with a big sign above it that said, Laundry Mat. When he first arrived at the rez he had taken a photo of the name and posted it on his social media. No one laughed or even commented on it.

That was over ten years ago. Fresh off the psych ward, nowhere to live, working at a supermarket in Tucson, Arizona.

Josh Tracksbears? A man in a suit had asked while he stacked chili bean cans on the shelf at that supermarket.

Yes. He answered, putting the last can from the box onto the shelf and turning to shake the hand the old guy was offering.

The old guy spoke some words in a foreign language.

Josh looked at him, he was Native American. An Elder. White on the outside.

Sorry, I never learned the language. He said. The old man nodded and continued in English.

Your grandma died. She left you her land and trailer. You have 12 months to claim it, or the Tribe will take it back and keep it.

Shit.

I am sorry for your loss. I grew up with your grandma, and knew your mother, Roseline.

Josh nodded. He hadn’t seen his grandma since he was a little boy. Had forgotten she existed. His mom had taken them out of the rez when she joined the army at 17. When he turned 18, he had followed in her steps. She died of an overdose soon after.

What do I do, to claim it?

The old man opened his suitcase and handed him a thick envelope. It’s all there, the instructions and procedures.

Josh took the envelope and turned it over a few times.

Read what’s inside, all of it. Don’t lose your grandmother’s land.

OK.

When he first got to the trailer, it was still clean, well looked after and smelled good. He had a vague memory of frybread and melted commodity cheese and his mother and grandmother arguing at the top of their lungs.

Eighty acres of arid desert land, a trailer with no running water or electricity. Score.

He didn’t know what to expect when he first moved into grandma’s trailer. A welcoming committee? Some aunties or uncles to greet him?

None of that happened. But, there again, he didn’t exactly go to any of the celebrations or meetings that were advertised in neon letters outside the community hall.

There were no jobs at the reservation, which meant he had to drive an hour every day to get to one of the nearest city’s supermarkets, where he was again stacking cans.

He was in his mid-twenties at the time and people still thought he had potential for something more.

He remembered those events like they were yesterday. So many years had gone by now, most of them a blur of alcoholic fog. The washing machine beeped bringing him back to now.

He lifted the baseball cap off his eyes, yawned and pulled the curtains, bedding and pillows out of the washing machine and stuck them into the dryer, then started a new batch of washing, with his clothes this time. 

He didn’t know why but he knew he needed a fresh start. A clean start. And he started by cleaning the trailer. He had also filled the water tank with fresh water and used it to shower every day, as well as doing his dishes, which were getting dirty from cooking for himself. The back seat of his truck was full of boxes with his grandma’s clothes, shoes and other personal items. He had never taken her stuff out of the trailer, until now.

The stuff was dusty and old. He knew nothing was worth a dime and not even the goodwill store would take it. But he needed to build himself up before throwing it all in a dumpster somewhere.

He turned the machines back on, went back to his seat and pulled the cap over his eyes. Something wet touched his hand, making him jump several feet off the chair and land on the other side of the room.

Fufu.

The cartoon dog barked at him, a playful bark. Tongue out, his ridiculous tail wagging a thousand miles a minute.

What the fuck are you doing here, Fufu? He said out loud and walked to the door looking around for Sunglasses.

The poodle put his head under Josh’s hand, demanding a pet.

He kneeled next to the dog and let him lick his face. Petting him good. The dog smelled of roses.

She stank you up with perfume, huh.

The dog whined.

Women.

Fufu did a puppy bark at him, and stepped out, turned and did a few turns and jumps.

You wanna play?

Yup, the dog had said in dog language. Let’s run, let’s play.

Loose dogs on the rez were normal. Even high-end breeds running around by themselves were not unusual, but not completely the norm either.  Rez dogs run free.  Purebreds usually didn’t last long doing that.

Where’s your mom, boy?

Fufu barked twice.

Follow me! Lassy says. Josh said out loud.

He sensed his body doing the electric in his cells thing. He took a deep breath and reached into his pocket for some pills. He was back on his meds and clean and sober for a few days now.

Closing the laundromat door behind him, he grabbed Fufu by the collar and walked down to Mainstreet. Most of the stores were boarded up, abandoned and decorated with colorful graffiti. He turned the corner to Ray Street and there was the Jag.

Sunglasses was leaning against it.

Tracksbears! She shouted at him.

He saluted.

It came out of nowhere, but that’s the energy she gave him. Ex military, or something. He reached her and handed her the dog.

Thanks.

He was over a foot taller than her. He felt big and clumsy. Shy.

What you up to? She asked, in what he now noticed was a foreign accent.

Laundry. He answered.

Another ride? He asked her in return.

Yeah, word got around, I think. That someone is willing to come in.

She meant the rez.

Why would you do that? Come here, I mean. It’s not the safest place for a little girl like you. The words came out of his mouth before he had a chance to censure them. He looked at the Jag. Or your nice car.

How’s your girlfriend doing?

I don’t have a girlfriend. He said too quickly. Then he remembered the woman he had been with when he and Sunglasses had met. Oh, her. he added. I don’t really know her. She was a snag.

Sorry, none of my business. Sunglasses said.

Lorena, she added, extending her hand.

He took her hands in his and felt an electric shock travel through it, his entire body and his brain. He pulled away fast.

Whoa, that’s a lot of static electricity you carry. Must be the dryer at the laundromat needs some static sheets or something. She said, laughing.

He was about to say that it was not him and it was not a static shock, but just gave a nervous laugh back and nodded.

You a veteran? He asked.

Kind of. Nothing I can talk about.

He nodded.

That’s when she pulled off her sunglasses. Her eyes were large, blue or green, or brown, he couldn’t tell. As she looked at him, he felt his body starting to shake. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his muscles, which were still toned, even after ten years of neglect and substance abuse.

Shit, Squirrel, they did a real number on you.

What did you call me?

Squirrel.

My name is Josh. Josh Tracksbears.

Sure, it is. And mine is Lorena, not Panther at all.

Josh was dizzy. He reached for the Jag to steady himself, but Fufu put himself under his hand again. The warm fur and soft pompoms under his hand steadied him.

He’s a service dog, treats PTSD. Sunglasses said.

Who the fuck are you and what do you want? Josh said, while unconsciously petting the dog.

I’m no Gazelle, that’s for sure. Nor a Monkey, a Weasel or a Bear.

You can do this Squirrel! Just another mile, let’s go! He heard the words in his mind, loud, deep voice this time, an older kid, a boy, bigger than him. His name was Bear.

Panther. Josh said, as the amnesia programming started to crack.

There you are, you stupid bastard. What the fuck, man. Why did you let them break you like this. Sunglasses, Panther, said out loud. He thought. No, not out loud. In his brain.

Fuck. He said and reached for his meds. Sorry, I’m having a psychotic episode.

Sure, you are. Take your time. Panther said and laughed.

He did. He took more pills and took his time. Ten minutes of standing there, silently watching the woman, who was about his age, who he remembered being best friends with and who could talk straight into his brain.

Where’s your client? Josh asked to break the silence, looking around for someone to claim their ride on the Jag.

You are it. Panther answered. Well, not exactly the client, per se. Someone else is paying your bill.

I’m not going anywhere.

Here is the thing, you just had a weird vision, like a memory, right, was I in it, were we kids?

Who wants to know? Josh answered with his own question this time. He wondered if the woman existed at all. Maybe it was all in his mind and he was talking to himself in the middle of the road. He looked around, there were some people sitting outside one of the few open stores. They were not looking at him.

I know about your military career, your stay at a psychiatric hospital, the pills you just took. You are not having psychotic episodes, Josh. Those visions are real, and I can take you to a place where they can help you recover all of them. All your memories. And recover your sanity and sense of self too.

If what the woman was saying was true, and she was real, it would explain so much of his life. He looked around again. He could decide to stay and continue as he was. Or he could get in the Jag and have a beautiful woman who made his body and soul feel happy and complete, drive him somewhere with a promise to show him he wasn’t crazy.

Where do you want me to go?

California. I can’t give you the exact address, it’s a secret location.

What did he have to lose? A couple of days in California sounded exciting.

He made up his mind. I don’t need a ride. I have a truck.

That’s a good point. The woman, whatever her name was, said. We better get your shit, your truck, and take it back to your place. We don’t want a missing person report going up if you leave with your clothes still in the dryer.

He found himself leading her back to the laundromat where she helped him collect all his clothes, folding them with him and packing them all into his truck. While all the time chatting up a storm about a school they had attended as kids and how they had been best friends for years.

At some point during the conversation he figured she was real. Folding blankets and curtains with an imaginary person would have been impossible. But all the stuff she was on about? He had soon given up on his sanity and hers. What did it matter if she went on about weird stuff, and his psychotic episode convinced him she was talking into his head? She was beautiful and was hanging out with him. Why would he complain? A couple of times he did wonder if she was even more crazy than he was. But something about her told him it was all good. She was fine and he was safe.

After they were done packing everything onto the back of his truck, she followed him to his trailer. Fufu rode with him and kept pawing him, every time his body started freaking out.

You really are a trained PTSD dog, huh. He said. Fufu licked his face.

It was late evening by the time he put his backpack in the trunk of the F-Type and sat on the passenger seat ready for an unknown and exciting adventure.

She turned the key, put on some loud music, smiled gently, and pulled away from grandma’s trailer. Away from everything he’d known for the last 10 years.

Chapter Three

ROAD TRIP

The voice was distant, Squirrel it kept saying over and over.

With a jump he woke up as his mind brought him to the present time. Squirrel, wake up, man. Sunglasses shook him with her right hand, while holding the steering wheel with the left.

Josh looked around. It was dark out. The dash clock showed 4am.

Can you drive? Are you well enough to drive?

Sure, I can drive. Why didn’t we stop? We can get a couple hotel rooms or something.

No stopping until we get you cleaned up.

He grabbed his t-shirt and pulled it to his nose, taking a sniff.

Sunglasses laughed. You don’t smell too bad. A shower will be good, for both of us. But no, not that type of cleaned up. I’m going to pull over at the next rest stop, we need to take Fufu for a walk and then you can drive for a while.

Before he asked her, she added, just follow the GPS instructions.

The rest stop was clean and had a shower. It didn’t take much to convince Sunglasses for them to use the showers before continuing their journey. It woke him up too. At the next exit, he picked up a drive through coffee and some breakfast. Fufu got a small cup of whipped cream, and a handful of doggy treats. No charge.

Sunglasses slept right through it all.

He kept looking at her. She was fast out, intensely asleep. His mind wondered how it was that she trusted him this much. Trusted him with her car, and to drive them to the right place, and not hurt her in any way.

At ten in the morning, Sunglasses sat up, yawned and told him she could take over. But driving the F-Type was sweet as honey. He didn’t want to stop. Plus, he was still well rested and doing great.

Yeah, she’s a beauty to drive. The woman said, guessing his thoughts. It’s nice to have you back, Squirrel. She said and had a good stretch. She looked at the map on the dash and added, I need a restroom stop and coffee, next exit.

When they got back in the car, Sunglasses unpacked a new phone and spent a couple of hours setting it up.

What happened to your old phone?

No longer useful. She told him.

She had changed into a tank top and skirt, her hair braided to one side. She felt very familiar to him. Panther. The name kept coming up when he looked at her. He thought it was weird calling her Panther, so he just kept calling her Sunglasses. She didn’t seem to care. He struggled to remember her name, which he had heard twice now.

Lorena, are we related?

She laughed. No, we are not.

The phone rang.

Yeah. She said, stayed silent for over a minute, then hung up.

All good?

All is well. She put the