Utopian Day

  Utopian Day

  By C.L. Wells

  Copyright Christopher L. Wells (2015) - All rights reserved

  Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Author's blog: www.fictionwithamission.com

  Other works by this author:

  The Tucson Prophecy: Prequel to the Supernatural Gift series

  The Seer: Book 1 in the Supernatural Gift series

  For a current list of titles by this author, visit https://fictionwithamission.com/books-by-c-l-wells/

  To receive a FREE work of fiction by this author, visit https://fictionwithamission.com/go/free-book

  Author's email address: [email protected]

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Preview: The Seer - Chapter 1

  Author's Note

  Thank You

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  James stood on the dock wondering about the events that had led him to this point. Just months before he had been a prisoner serving time in a U.S. prison. Then, unexpectedly, his sentence had been reduced and he was given a chance to start a new life and go straight - a chance he was eager to make good on. But now he was in a foreign country, on the run from the FBI, and framed for a crime he didn't commit. He watched, feeling helpless, as the man who had set him up sailed away on a yacht. Could things possibly get worse? His mind drifted back to that fateful day that had started the whole bizarre journey?.

  Six months earlier:

  As he looked across the table at his client, Cecil Brody Jr. felt pity and sadness. In his years as a public defender he had seen many such young men follow a similar path. A troubled youth with a difficult or non-existent family life had a brush with the law and ended up in juvenile detention. They made friends with the wrong crowd while inside, and went from bad to worse once they were released from prison. Years and numerous incarcerations later - assuming they lived that long - they ended up right where this young man was.

  Today, however, was different. Cecil was here to offer his client something that none of his other clients had ever received. He was, dare his frequently cynical mind admit, excited about the possibility that today might be a turning point for the better. Today might be the beginning of a genuine shot at rehabilitation for this young man.

  The guard who had brought his client in finished securing one handcuff to the table to ensure the lawyer's safety, and exited the room. Cecil, who had been lost in his thoughts, had his contemplations cut short as he heard the door shut and the loud mechanical lock engage. He brought his gaze up to meet the eyes of his client.

  "James, it's good to see you."

  He paused before continuing, but the prisoner did not respond. "I have some good news for you. You have been selected to participate in a special rehabilitation program that could cut ten years off of your sentence."

  James sat up a little straighter in his chair and leaned forward, obviously interested. He had so far been incarcerated for two years of a twenty-five year sentence for armed robbery. The idea of cutting his remaining sentence almost in half seemed surreal. He wanted to make certain he had heard correctly.

  "Ten years?"

  "That's right. Are you interested?"

  "Is grass green?" James responded.

  "O.k., here's how it works." The lawyer slid some paperwork and a pen across to his client. "It is a highly selective and relatively unknown project the department of corrections has been running for years. I didn't even know it existed myself. If you sign up and keep your nose clean, your sentence will be reduced by ten years. Everything you need to know is right here."

  He slid the form across the table and paused while James picked up the paper and began to read. James was sharp. He may have been a criminal, but despite his bad choices he had graduated high school with a 'B' average. He'd even been looking at colleges before his life began to fall apart with break-neck speed. Cecil patiently waited for the questions he knew would begin coming once he finished reading the agreement.

  "What is this about 'prisoner waives all rights,' and 'prisoner authorizes implantation of required devices'? Am I agreeing to be experimented on or something?"

  "No, nothing like that. This is just the legal paperwork required for you to get into the program. I've been briefed on the program and I think you are going to like it much better than here. You will be living in a facility with only nine other people. There won't be any cells like they have here. You will have a real room all to yourself. The 'devices' they refer to are for electronic surveillance purposes only."

  Cecil watched James' eyes as he read back over the paperwork. James didn't appear to be as interested as Cecil had initially hoped he would be.

  "Listen James," Cecil began as he stared straight into the younger man's eyes. "Chances like this don't come around that often. In fact, I can almost guarantee this chance won't come around again. If you don't sign this deal today, I walk out of here and you stay here for the next twenty-three years, barring an early release, which we both know won't happen in this state unless hell freezes over."

  Cecil paused again to let his words sink in as James stared down at the paperwork in front of him. This was James' third serious conviction with jail time - by far the longest sentence. He thought back to his previous sentence of five years and how he had almost committed suicide in the fourth year because he was so depressed. He was on medication now, but it didn't really help much. He knew in his heart that he would never make it twenty-three more years. But thirteen, and in a better environment? maybe he could make it. He would still be young enough to build a different life when he got out, maybe go straight the way his mom would have wanted him to. Just maybe this could be the first break he had seen in a long time.

  James picked up the pen and signed his name.

  Chapter Two

  Mia was in a sour mood, and it wasn't because of the dining experience at Del Posto. On the contrary, the baked striped bass had been excellent. Followed by the fette biscottate for dessert, it could hardly have been a more delicious meal.

  Mia's mood had everything to do with the fact that she was about to end a three month long relationship with Thomas Pendleton. He was a nice enough man, an investment banker, and he was fun to be around. They had met at a party for a mutual acquaintance. She had been working at the time - the only time she ever went to such functions.

  Thomas had tried t
o strike up a conversation with her, and she had politely told him that she was working and could not stop to talk to him. He had given her his number and asked her to call him so they could have lunch sometime. She had thanked him, stuffed the number in her pocket, and continued working. A few weeks later she had called him up and they had been seeing each other ever since.

  But now, however, there was a problem. It was the same problem Mia always had with anyone she had dated. Once it started getting too personal, a switch flipped inside of her head and she started feeling like she was being suffocated. After that, the relationship was doomed. She would normally break it off within a few dates after she started getting that feeling. This date was that date.

  Thomas reached his hand across the table and gently caressed Mia's hand. It made Mia tense up, though she tried not to show it.

  "I've just bought a new sculpture from an up and coming artist and I'd like to show it to you. Why don't we go by my apartment before I drop you off at your place and you can see it?"

  She knew where this was going. Tonight was the most expensive restaurant that he had taken her to so far. He might as well have asked her outright if she wanted to go back to his apartment and have sex. She was glad she had already made plans to take the subway back to her apartment building after she ended the relationship. She felt a twinge of guilt about dumping him after he had just spent over three hundred dollars on dinner, but it couldn't be helped. Now was the time.

  "Thomas, I really like you, but I am just not ready to get serious in a relationship right now. My work keeps me very busy, and I don't think it is fair to either one of us to continue to see each other right now. I need a break. I'd like to keep your friendship, but not the dating relationship."

  She had given this same speech so many times she should have a patent on it. It rolled off of her tongue like the well-rehearsed script that it was and to the desired effect. Thomas slowly withdrew his hand back across the table, crestfallen. This was the worst part. At least he wasn't getting angry. A fair number of men became belligerent after being dumped. She even had one man follow her to her car and try and force himself on her. He hadn't made it to first base, but he did manage to get to an ER to get treatment for his broken nose afterwards.

  "But we've been having such a good time together. If things are going too fast, I can slow down. I don't want you to feel pressured. I think we've got a good thing going here and I'd like to give it a chance. I really like you Mia. So? I'll back off and give you space, then in a few weeks I'll give you a call, and see if you still feel the same way. Fair enough?"

  "O.k. Thomas, we'll see. I really need to go now. Thank you very much for dinner."

  Thomas held up his finger to a passing waiter.

  "Check please," he said with a forced smile.

  "No, Thomas, I'm taking the subway back to my apartment."

  "But, Mia?"

  Before he could finish his sentence, Mia stood up, and walked away from the table and out the door.

  When Mia had first started experiencing what she had started to call 'the Mia phenomenon', she had blamed the men for being too pushy. But when it happened over and over again, she started to believe it was just something wrong with her. She read a few books trying to figure out what was wrong, even going to a psychologist for a while. The psychologist had listened for several sessions, and then she had suggested that Mia was having trouble trusting men. She theorized that whenever the relationship started to progress past a point where minimal trust was required, Mia bolted.

  Mia found the suggestion believable. She'd had a difficult relationship with her parents and had ultimately left home at a young age because she felt that they had betrayed her and could no longer be trusted. But at this point in her life, she wasn't sure what to do about it.

  Mia caught the subway home, went into her apartment, lay down on the sofa, and cried.

  Nick was feeling on top of the world. The big project he had been working on for some time was finally coming together, and the payoff for all of the hard work was now within sight. On top of that, he had just crushed Jerry in a singles tennis match.

  After showering and changing clothes, he met Jerry in the club dining room for lunch. He was enjoying the review of the game when he had a sudden pain in his stomach. He winced slightly, and hunched forward a bit.

  "Are you o.k., Nick?" Jerry asked.

  "Just a bit of a pain in my stomach, that's all. Probably a touch of indigestion or something; nothing to worry about."

  He took a sip of seltzer water and continued talking about the match. He had been having indigestion quite frequently lately, and made a mental note to go to the doctor after he closed this next project. There was no reason to take time out of his busy schedule now for a doctor's visit when some over-the-counter medicine would probably suffice for the time being.

  As he drove back to his office, his cell phone rang. Tom Freeman's name came up on the screen.

  "Hello Tom. What do you have for me?"

  "I talked to that cop who owes you ten grand. He's willing to take the job."

  "Good. Go ahead and make the arrangements. Make certain it can't be traced back to us."

  "Will do."

  "Oh, and Tom. When this is all over, see to it that any history of his activity on any of our gaming sites is removed from the host servers and all the backups. I don't want any potential investigation to turn up anything. This has to be clean or we'll all end up in trouble."

  "Consider it done."

  A file lay open on the workbench beside J.T. Thornbacker as he finished up the last few cuts on the wooden carving, the base of which was held tight in a vise. It was a woman's face. She was staring up into the sky with her eyes open, her hair swept back as if it was being blown by the wind, and a beautiful smile on her face. He stepped back to admire his handiwork. After staring at it for a few moments, he smiled and put down the carving tool beside the file on the workbench.

  He opened up the file folder and stared down at the mug shot of the soon-to-be newest member of their dysfunctional little tribe. James Marlowe, twenty-six years old, convicted of armed robbery. The profile went on to state that James had attempted suicide and was on anti-depressants, was above average intelligence for the prison population, and had been in and out of jail since he was a juvenile.

  "I hope, my friend, that you can find peace here with us," J.T. said out loud.

  He thought back to his own introduction to Utopia and all of the life-changing experiences he'd had here. This place had helped turn a bitter, angry man who thought he was the center of the universe into someone who actually cared about other people and had learned to live in peace with himself and others for the most part. He had seen the same transformation in many of his fellow-prisoners.

  As he left the warehouse where his workshop was located and headed to the library, he enjoyed viewing the orange glow of the sunset over the desert horizon. He took a deep breath of the rapidly cooling air and felt happy to be alive. Here in Utopia, each day was a chance to grow, a chance to experience a new level of inner freedom and peace. It was strange to admit it, but he was glad he had come to this prison. It had helped save his life. But the world as J.T. Thornbacker knew it at that moment was about to permanently and irrevocably change forever?.

  Chapter Three

  James woke up in his hospital bed slowly, groggy from the anesthesia. His hands were in restraints and he was beginning to feel the odd sensation of the monitoring device that had been surgically implanted underneath his skin on the back of his neck, near the spine. After about fifteen minutes, a nurse came in to check his vital signs and then left without saying a word. In another half-hour, a doctor came in and asked him a series of questions, then pecked on the screen of his tablet computer for a few minutes, punctuating his flurry of activity with miscellaneous utterances - 'hmmm', 'o.k.', and then finally a 'looks good' before leaving the room.
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  The next person James saw was a man in a business suit, wearing glasses with small, circular lenses. He had an intense gaze and black hair that was just starting to grey. His demeanor was pleasant, but formal. He took a few moments to look at James' face before he spoke.

  "Good afternoon, James. How do you feel?"

  "Groggy at the moment."

  "That should wear off completely in a few hours. How does the implant feel?"

  "Irritating."

  The man shook his head up and down slightly, acknowledging the response before continuing.

  "You will be in this facility for a week. During that time we will run a series of tests on the monitoring device we implanted, and you will learn about your job at the new facility. Part of the program includes a six-day, eight hour a day work schedule to help rehabilitate you to a normal productive life for when you leave the facility. You will be helping to assemble a mechanical device on an assembly line. At the end of the week, assuming all goes as planned, you will be transported to the new facility. Should you attempt to leave this facility, you will be removed from the program, your sentence reduction will be eliminated, and you will be put back in the prison you just came from for the remainder of your sentence. Is that clear?"

  "Yes," James responded. He was encouraged about the possibility of any improvements over his previous incarceration. He liked working with his hands; at least he wouldn't be bored to death.

  "Good. One of the reasons we picked you is that you appear to have intelligence above many of your fellow inmates incarcerated for the same crime. We hope this will enable you to better appreciate that you have been given a great opportunity, and that you will therefore endeavor to successfully complete the program. In short, we want you to succeed. If you do, it makes all of us look good and you will be rewarded with an early release per our agreement. If you don't, you will make all of us look bad, in which case we both lose."

  The man let the last sentence hang in the air for effect, all the while holding James' gaze without blinking. When the man spoke again, he almost seemed to be a different person. It was as if he had just completed a script that he had given many times before, and now he was slipping out of character and back into a more comfortable, friendlier role. He seemed less official, more excited, and more likeable all at once.