Mysterious Gift (2 page)

Chapter Three

He’d been in a semi-doze when he felt a presence and looked up. He hoped it was the sexy redheaded nurse, but no such luck. An older man wearing a charcoal, three-piece suit and holding a briefcase stood in the doorway.

“Brian, my boy. Feeling any better?

When Brian said nothing, the man came to stand by his bed. “I heard you had a bit of a memory problem. I’m sure it will all come back in time. I’m Nathan Strauss, your attorney.” The smile on his lips never reached his eyes. He held out his hand to shake.

The instant Brian touched the attorney, words and images sizzled into his brain. The old guy hated his guts and wished he’d died.

Strauss tried to pull his hand away, but Brian held on tighter.

Strauss was behind his attack. He’d hired a couple of goons to take care of him, permanently. The bastard.

Why?

An instant before Strauss broke free, he had his answer. The lawyer had been looting his trust fund until almost all the money was gone.

Brian snatched his hand away.

Strauss’ eyes were slits of pure malevolence, but he recovered quickly and took a step back. The smarmy smile was back in place. “Any idea how long you’ll be here?”

A low-grade headache thrummed in Brian’s head, but it got better each day. He wasn’t about to tell Strauss that. “I’m not sure.” He made his voice sound weak and a bit quivering. “The doctor said I should have some memory back by now, but…there’s nothing.”

Strauss grinned for real.

Somehow, he had to get better, get out of here, recover his money, and exact revenge. He couldn’t let Strauss get away with this. He started to grit his teeth, but it made his head hurt.

“I have to be running along, but if there’s anything I can do for you, anything at all, just give me a call.” Strauss snatched up his briefcase and almost ran from the room.

Brian snuggled back against his pillow. So, he was rich, or at least he had been. A trust fund and an Astin Martin. If only he could remember. What if his memory loss was permanent? He didn’t even want to think about that.

He heard a noise and looked up.

“How about a nice bath before they bring your dinner? Won’t that feel good?” A nurse came in pushing a cart with a pan, clean hospital gown, and a big, fluffy sponge. It would feel good to be clean, but he’d rather jump in the shower and wash himself.

“My name is Cerise.” She nudged the door closed. “We don’t want to be interrupted, now do we?” She turned the lock.

It was obvious she’d applied fresh lipstick and combed her hair. The top four buttons on her blouse were undone, exposing a vast expanse of creamy breast. She wore a short, tight skirt, and he’d bet money she wasn’t wearing panties. A subtle, sexy aroma of exotic perfume drifted across the room. She sure wasn’t dressed like the rest of the nurses around there.

He licked his lips and settled lower in the bed.

“Let me get some nice warm water from the bathroom, and we’ll start.” She winked at him and walked away, rolling her flirtatious hips. His erection tented the sheets, but he didn’t care. Cerise wanted to play, and he was more than ready. When he heard the faucets turn off, he raised his knees to disguise his arousal—for the moment.

She put a clean towel on the sheets covering his chest and picked up his right arm.

Pain shot into his head along with the image of Cerise servicing two men at the same time. The woman was a sex addict and had been with hundreds of men. He shuddered at her touch.

“This should feel so good.” Slowly she rubbed the foamy sponge up and down his arm, rinsed, dried, and reached across for the other arm. Her soft breasts pushed against his chest. Her nipples were hard, round nubs. He started to put his right arm around her, but she pulled back.

“No, no. Now, you be a good boy.” She pulled the sheet lower on his body, her knuckles brushing lightly against his erection. He gritted his teeth to keep from exploding. She peered up at him from lowered eyes and smiled. Hot, naked desire sizzled though him. He wanted to grab the woman and pull her onto the bed with him, but the thought of all the men she’d been with stopped him cold. God only knew what diseases she might have.

She danced away then took the soapy sponge and started making lazy circles on his chest, lower and lower. Brian didn’t know what would happen when he touched the woman, but he had to. He couldn’t wait much longer. He reached over the side of the bed, snaked his hand up between her legs, and she gasped.

He’d been right; no panties. He toyed and played, teased and tickled with his fingertips. She moaned. Wet and warm, she was more than ready for him. He slid one finger inside the warm cleft, and then another. Her eyes glazed over, and her jaw went slack.

“Yes, baby, yes, oh please don’t stop.”

He wanted to withdraw, but she grabbed his elbow with both hands and wouldn’t let go. Ideas and images sizzled though his mind.

A pool. The nurses had a lottery going to see who would be the first to have sex with him. Cerise had a camera hidden among the towels and was going to snap a photo of him fully erect and, if she could, one of the two of them having sex.

Bucking and moaning, Cerise made sexy growling noises deep in her throat. With one long, shuddering sigh, she came and slumped against the bed. She straightened up and reached for his already flaccid cock.

“Baby, that was wonderful, but I want to feel you inside of me.” She bent toward his face to kiss him.

“Sorry, honey, playtime is over. Take your camera and leave. Too bad you didn’t get the photo since there’s over a hundred bucks in that pool.”

Her coffee-colored eyes grew round, and her jaw dropped. She gasped, whirled, and shot out the door.

Brian shoved the table away from his bed, sloshing water onto the floor. He didn’t know what was wrong with him but hoped to hell it would go away soon, or he’d never get laid.

Chapter Four

A cute, blonde candy striper brought Brian his dinner. He barely brushed her arm but instantly knew she was worried about an upcoming test in school and contemplating having sex for the first time with her boyfriend when they were alone this weekend. His ability—or whatever the hell to call it—was getting worse, stronger.

He ate a few bites of the bland meatloaf and soggy mashed potatoes before giving up and shoving his tray away. Maybe it was this place. Perhaps once he got out of the hospital it wouldn’t happen again. Deep inside, he knew that wasn’t true. He tried to watch an insipid movie on TV but finally gave up and called the nurse for a sleeping pill. He was determined that tomorrow he would get out of bed and start walking to build up his strength. He had to get out, go back to his life, and try to remember.

Brian had been asleep for hours when he jerked awake. Fuzzy with the remains of the strong pill, it took him a few seconds to become fully alert. When he did, he saw a man standing in the corner of the room looking at him.

“Who…who are you? What do you want?” Brian coughed and reached for his water cup to clear his throat. Had Strauss sent an assassin to finish the job?

The man took a step forward, out of the shadows. “My name is Phelps, and I’ve come from the headquarters of Why Pat to help you with your psychic abilities,” he said with a slight English accent. His deep voice rumbled out of his thick chest. He was dressed entirely in black. Totally bald, his head gleamed in the weak light filtering in from the hallway. He had no eyebrows, and his dark eyes burned into Brian like hot coals. A ruby stud winked from the man’s right earlobe.

“Psychic thoughts? Is that what they are? How did you find me? Why do you want to help? And what the hell is the Why Pat?”

“W-I-A-P-T is an acronym for World Institute for Advanced Psychic Training. We consist of a group of psychics from around the world whose goal is to right some wrongs and help mankind with our abilities. We try to assist new members in learning to control their gifts. I’ve been sent to mentor you.”

“But how did you know about me?” Brian’s head thumped painfully.

“When you were coshed on the head, the part of your brain that’s psychic was stimulated. We all felt your power.”

“You mean like a disturbance in the force?” Brian chuckled, but Phelps remained stoic.

“Something like that, yes. Everyone is psychic to a degree, but since your accident, you’ve achieved a higher plane and are much more astute. Right now, you’re getting images and information left and right, willy-nilly. Our aim is to help you channel those images and train you to manage your gift. Once we do, you’ll be able to travel to other countries, interact with people, and bring great good to the world.”

“How? I can’t stand to touch people or have them touch me. I…I know things. I mean, when I touched my lawyer, I realized he’s siphoned all the money from my trust account. As far as I know, I’m broke.” He ran a hand through his overlong hair in frustration, which caused his head to hurt. “I don’t even know how I’ll pay the rent on my apartment, once I find it.”

“No worries, Mr. Wakefield. We’ve all been through it. You’ll learn to control the touch. And you’ll get your memory back, eventually. We can help with that, too. And all the money is back in your accounts. When you received your ability, we researched your background and knew you would be of great value to us, but you needed your funds. When we discovered what the nefarious Mr. Strauss had done, we made sure to reverse his withdrawals.”

A smarmy smile slid onto Phelps face. “Your Mr. Strauss has done the same thing to others. He will be taken care of forthwith.” He took a step forward, and Brian couldn’t help himself from cringing against his pillow. There was something very sinister and creepy about the guy.

Phelps continued. “As for living arrangements, you own the penthouse in the Marina Towers Apartments. You have quite a lovely view of San Diego Bay, I must say.”

Brian’s brain whirled with confusion. “You said you would train me to control my psychic powers. How?”

“When you’re well enough, we’ll bring you to the institute located in the Berkshires of central Massachusetts and train you. You have a great talent, and used properly, you can help many people. But if you don’t learn to control it, you will go mad.”

Brian wanted to tell the guy he was already going nuts. He opened his mouth to ask another question when he heard a soft knock on his door.

“Mr. Wakefield?” One of the night nurses pushed the door the rest of the way open. “I heard your voice. Can I get you anything?”

“No, I was just talking to…” The room was empty, but a slight odor remained. Something dark and moldy. Brian shivered. “…myself. Had a bad dream. I’m fine now. Thank you for checking.”

“Ring if you need anything.” She eased the door almost closed.

Brian searched the murky room. He was alone. Now, how in the hell had that guy gotten into the room? More importantly, where had he gone? It must have been a dream.

He scrubbed his face with his hands. There was no way for anyone to get into or out of his room but the door, and the nurse had been right outside.

Snuggling back down into the covers, he tried to go back to sleep. He heard something crinkle and found a business card on the edge of his pillow. All it had was the name Phelps, a phone number, and the initials, WIAPT.

So, he hadn’t been dreaming. The pain in his head made it hard for him to think. He tucked the business card under the edge of the mattress, fully expecting it to be gone in the morning.

The first thing he did when he awoke was to shove his fingers under the mattress. To his surprise, it was still there, if a bit wrinkled. Sweat slid down his sides, and the pain in his head thrummed. He really was going nuts. Now more than ever he was determined to get out of the hospital and back to his home. He had to find out if he’d really gotten his money back. He also had to ascertain how he got the money in the first place. Christ, but he wished he could remember!

He heard voices and footsteps in the hallway. Morning rounds had begun. Good, he had a few questions for his doctor. He shoved the business card under his mattress again.

“Mr. Wakefield. How are you feeling this morning?” Dr. Morton stood in the doorway with a group of fresh-faced, eager new doctors in tow. “Any pain today?”

He did have a headache but figured he’d get out of the hospital a lot faster if he kept his mouth shut. “Yes, a mild headache, but I think I’m getting better everyday. When do you think I can be released?”

Morton walked over to the bed but was clearly reluctant to touch him. “Dr. Raymond, why don’t you do a quick exam of Mr. Wakefield?”

A young black man wearing green hospital scrubs under his white coat nodded and walked around to the side of the bed. Gold-rimmed spectacles gleamed in the overhead light as he bent over Brian. He took his stethoscope from where it was looped around his neck and applied it to Brian’s chest.

Brian gasped and bit his lower lip to keep from blurting out his thoughts.

“I’m sorry. Am I hurting you?”

“No, not at all. The stethoscope is a bit cold.” Brian looked into the doctor’s serious brown eyes and felt his pain. He was struggling to finish his residency because he had five siblings to support. His student loans were horrendous, and the young doctor worried all the time about repaying them. He was starting to get an ulcer.

Brian gritted his teeth and tried to block out the images as the doctor examined him.

“Everything seems fine.” Dr. Raymond patted Brian’s hand. “You haven’t had any seizures, and that’s good. No blackouts. Have you had any exercise?”

“Just walking to the bathroom and back, but I made that by myself.”

“Try to walk a bit more. You’ve been lying in bed for a while, and your muscles are weak. Ring for a nurse to help you. We don’t want you to fall. I believe another x-ray of your skull would be in order before we discharge you.” Raymond looked at Morton, who nodded his head in the affirmative, then turned back and smiled, showing straight, white teeth. “I’ll check back tonight and, if you’re able to move about by yourself, I think we can release you tomorrow. Dr. Morton?”

“Yes, yes, fine. I agree.” Dr. Morton looked very relieved to be rid of him. “Now, Mr. Wakefield, we’ll expect you back for some follow-up exams, but as far as I’m concerned, you can leave tomorrow after lunch. How does that sound?”

“Great. I’m tired of lying in bed all the time.”

Morton gathered his flock of neophyte healers and walked out of the room.

Brian wiggled out from under the sheets, sat up, and dangled his feet over the side of the bed. No time like the present. He stood up, the room whirled, and he almost fell on his ass. He flopped back on the bed and lay there gasping and sweating. So much for independence. He’d have to ring for help.

He’d barely pulled his finger from the bell when the pretty, redheaded nurse poked her head in the door. A flash of memory sparked, and he remembered her touching him when he was first in the hospital, in those days of foggy consciousness.

She thought she was frigid. That’s what she’d been about to ask him the other day. How had he known she thought she was frigid?

He grinned. Perfect. If he was going to lead the life of a do-gooder, this would be an excellent start. He couldn’t wait to cure the curvaceous nurse.