Touching Eternity (Touch Series 1.5) (25 page)

“
Right here, sweetheart.”

Amalie was nudged into what felt like a wooden bench. Her mother’s hand slipped out of hers, leaving her alone in the empty silence.

“
Mommy…?” her voice croaked.

“
I’m here.” But her voice was far away.

Then there was a flare of light that momentarily blinded her. She squinted through her lashes at the odd space.

Wooden crates, barrels and broken pieces of furniture took up most of the cramped space. The single light bulb dangling from the rafters above swayed, throwing grotesque shadows across the walls. Her mother stood at the other end of the room, next to the door. She smiled at Amalie.

“
Don’t be scared,” she said. “Everything is going to be all right.”

“
I don’t like it down here,” Amalie said, her voice shaking with tears.

The smile faded from her mother’s face. She crossed the room and knelt at Amalie’s feet. “Amalie.” She rested cool hands on Amalie’s knee. “Look at me.” She waited until she had Amalie’s attention before continuing. “I know you’re very young and this won’t make sense to you, but it’s important that you really listen. Can you do that for me?”

Unsure, but determined, Amalie nodded.

One hand lifted and touched the side of her face. “You’re such a good girl.” there were tears in her mother’s eyes. “It’ll be your downfall, my little angel. You are so much good, so eager to please. He’ll destroy you. I know he will.”

Amalie had no idea what she was talking about, but she didn’t interrupt.

“
Amalie?” Her mother scooted closer, dropping her voice even more. “Do you remember when you saw Grandpa?”

Amalie nodded. “Daddy says we can’t talk about that.”

Her mother nodded. “Yes, he did, but he’s not here. I need you to tell me what grandpa said.”

Amalie pressed her lips together.

“
Amalie, please. Daddy will never know.”

She hesitated. Her gaze flickered to the doorway, relieved to find it empty of her father’s daunting frame. She looked back at her mother.

“
He said…” she trailed off.

“
Go ahead,” her mother prompted, soothingly rubbing Amalie’s arms. “When did you see your grandfather?”

“
In the library,” Amalie answered quietly. “He likes it in there, says it’s quiet. I sit with him sometimes and he reads to me.”

She felt her mother shudder. “Amalie, baby, your grandfather…your grandfather, he’s…” She seemed incapable of speech for a moment. “Your grandfather, he’s…” Her hands were ice curling around Amalie’s fingers. “He’s dead, baby. Your grandfather is dead.”

Amalie nodded. “I know. He says Daddy didn’t want him near me, said he wanted to keep me to himself. He says…”

“
What, Amalie? What did he say?” her mother prompted when Amalie fell quiet.

“
He says Daddy killed him.”

Her mother sucked in a breath, held it for several heartbeats, released. “Amalie, what you have is a gift. You’re special. You see things other people can’t. Your father doesn’t believe in gifts. He’s very practical, so you can never tell him what you can do. Promise me. Promise me, Amalie, that you will never tell your father.”

“
But Daddy says you never keep things from—”

“
Promise me, Amalie!” Her tone was urgent, her eyes wide. Her fingers cut into Amalie’s arms, stopping blood flow, hurting. “Promise me!”

“
Ow, Mommy!”

The fingers relaxed, but the fear in her mother’s eyes remained bright. “Amalie, listen to me very carefully…are you listening?”

“
Yes, Mommy!” Tears poured down her face, hot and unstoppable.

“
Do not ever tell your father about what you can do. You must never tell him. It’s so important that you understand. Do you understand?”

She didn’t. She didn’t understand anything except the pure terror in her mother’s eyes, in the urgency in her voice. But she nodded. “I won’t tell Daddy.”

The relief was palpable. Her mother exhaled, closing her eyes. She drew Amalie into her arms. Her fingers combed her hair. “I love you, Amalie. Don’t ever forget how much I love you.”

***

Amalie closed her eyes, willing the memory away. She wished with all her might that she’d listened. Had she kept her mouth shut, her life may have been different now.

Outside the terrace doors, the heavens raged war with the ocean. The clash and rumble shook the extravagant structure perched precisely on the lip of the cliff overlooking the battlefield. Amalie heard the cacophony with gritty, sleep deprived eyes, her own emotions in turmoil. She tried to ignore all the possibilities racing through her mind of the things her father was going to do with her once he returned for her. She’d heard him the day before, ordering Tomas’ body away. She’d heard him talking to Isaiah and then leaving. He hadn’t returned, but it was only a matter of time and when he did, she wouldn’t survive it. He would blame her for what Tomas did. He would punish her for what she did. He would kill her this time. It was a cold, hard fact and she wondered how long she had before that happened and if she was ready to die.

Yes!
The voice in her head hissed, the desperation painful. She wanted to die. It was either that or live in isolation, in torture for the rest of her life, until either she broke or her father became too old to carry on the madness. But then there’d be someone else. Maybe Isaiah. It was what her father was grooming him for, to take his place. No. She would rather die than be tortured under Isaiah’s hands.

Part of her prodded that there was another option. A fairytale option. An impossible option. She could escape. She could run. But that part of her clearly hadn’t thought that plan out properly because where would she go? How would she make it past the gates? How would she make it down the corridor? She never would.

But you could try!
The voice insisted, urgent now, frantic.
What’s the worst he could do to you that he hasn’t already done?

The mere thought was such a temptation. She almost ached with a physical pain for the want. She closed her eyes and pressed her brow to the cool windowpane.

She could. She could try. It might not work, but at least she wouldn’t go down without a fight or at least an attempt at freedom.

The idea was so beautiful, so fictional, she was overwhelmed by the unexpected shot of adrenaline that pulsed through her, hot and unstoppable. Her breath caught and she had to close her eyes to stop the heady sensation that sucked all the air from her brain, leaving her faint.

Leave. It was a possibility. An impossible one, but maybe! Maybe she could.

Fear and excitement drummed through her like a second heartbeat and she almost gasped at how focused everything seemed to become. But the moment was shattered by the quiet click from behind her.

Guilty as if caught, she whipped around, pressing her back into the chilly glass.

Derek stepped into the room, clad in his uniform, face as somber as ever. His gray eyes swept the room once before settling on her and staying. He stared at her a moment too long, making her squirm and drop her gaze.

“I apologize,” he murmured, his husky voice drawing her attention back to him. “But there’s someone here who wishes to see you.”

That fleeting moment of excitement she’d experienced at the possibility of her escape shriveled up in the back of her throat and oozed into her churning belly. No one ever came to see her. Why would they? Was it a trap? Was it her father? No, of course not. Her father wouldn’t need an introduction. Why would anyone want to see her? Why would her father give permission? Was it Tomas?

So many questions. So many dizzying and numbing questions. She wasn’t prepared for the figure that finally stepped past Derek’s daunting figure to stand before her.

Relief struck her like a fist in the gut. She almost lost control of her knees as she slumped heavily on the doors to keep from striking the floor. But it didn’t last as she realized he had no reason to be there, no reason to want to talk to her, not unless he was there to tell her how disgusted with her he was. Maybe that’s why he’d come. Maybe he was there to tell her he was glad he’d left her.

Maybe you need to stop guessing,
the voice in her head said, annoyed.

Uncertain, she ran her eyes over him, taking in the rumpled state of his clothes, the tussled mess of his hair, the dark shadows around his eyes and the downward tilt of his mouth. There was stubble along his jaw that intensified the fatigue on his face. His hands were balled at his sides, knuckles white against the gold of his skin. He looked so tired, so defeated, so angry.

Amalie straightened, not allowing herself the luxury of looking weak or guilty when he said what he’d come to say. She straightened her spine, lifting her chin in what she hoped was a stance of strength, but her insides quivered. Her bones rattled. She felt physically ill.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered when it became apparent that he would stand there forever without uttering a word.

Then, as if her words had the power to cripple, he crumpled. His knees struck the hardwood with a crack that made her wince and he slumped forward, resting his hands on his knees, his head hanging. Amalie started forward, her hands outstretched, concern racing through her, but she caught herself at the last second, not sure what to do. Not sure he wanted her to touch him.

“Forgive me.” She thought she heard him murmur, but the words were so gruff, so faint she had to strain to hear them.

“What?” She took another step closer, careful.

With a sigh, he seemed to deflate even further, coming to a full kneeling position at her feet. “I didn’t know.” He rubbed a hand over his haggard face. “I swear I had no idea. I would never have left.”

Unconsciously, she took a step back, frightened and uncertain of his words. Each one meant so much and she didn’t want them to.

His head lifted at her gesture. The pain in his eyes struck her to the core.

“You can’t possibly hate me nearly as much as I hate myself,” he said with a humorless smile.

“You should go,” she whispered, needing him to leave before she gave into the spark of hope blossoming in her chest.

He rose, but he didn’t leave. He stood watching her, his blue eyes pools of agony blistering against his face. “Please listen to me?”

How could she deny him when he looked like a beaten dog ready to get another kick? How could she turn him away when he looked so broken? The angry part of her hissed at her weakness, calling her a fool for letting him close enough to destroy her again. But nothing in the world could make her stop loving him. No matter how hard she tried.

Behind him, Derek remained in the doorway, watching the scene with a carefully blank expression. She wasn’t sure why he was still there. Maybe to prevent her from doing a repeat performance of the day before. Maybe because it was his job to watch her. Whatever it was, he was very still, like he’d suddenly turned into a statue.

She turned her attention back to Isaiah, also watching her, his look pleading.

“I think you said all there was to say that last time,” she murmured.

Isaiah shook his head, gaze never leaving her face. “Nothing I said to you that day was mine.”

“It looked like you,” she said.

He took a cautious step forward. “You’ve known me my whole life. Have I ever, before that day, ever intentionally hurt you?”

She hesitated before giving a shake of her head.

“Because I would rather die than hurt you,” he said quietly. “I would kill before letting anyone hurt you. I want to kill that bastard for what he did to you, but it was my fault it happened.”

Amalie frowned. “You didn’t—”