Touching Eternity (Touch Series 1.5) (33 page)

Instead, he asked, “Am I still dreaming?”

The look on her face melted into one of regret. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Gently, he rose off her, dragging her up with him until they were both kneeling on the mattress together. He didn’t reach for her again, no matter how much he wanted to, but instead sat studying her carefully.

“What is it, Amalie?”

She was staring down at the fingers she was twisting together in her lap, her shoulders up by her ears. “Please don’t get angry with me.”

Isaiah blinked. “When have I ever been angry with you?”

She continued to watch the fidget of her restless fingers. “I heard you and Derek this morning. I know what happened, what my father did.”

The tension paralyzed him. He couldn’t even think to speak as he watched her.

Her eyes lifted, hurt and uncertainty shimmering in their blue depths. “Why didn’t you tell me, Isaiah? Why did you let me believe you did it to hurt me?”

He exhaled, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You shouldn’t have heard that.”

“Why?”

“Because it wasn’t important,” he answered. “Because no matter what they were my words.”

“But you only said them because he made you, right?” The plea in her eyes killed him. “You didn’t really mean them, did you?”

He groaned. “No! Of course not, but—”

She shifted closer, lancing through his protest with a single caress of her fingers against his face. “Did you want to leave?”

Her fingers were slender digits of ice burning through his palms when he captured her hand between both of his. He peered into her eyes. “Amalie, you shouldn’t worry about this. It’s over and done—”

She ripped her hand free of his and glowered. “Answer me!”

He sighed, hanging his head. “No. I never wanted to leave you.”

Her fingers shook as she slipped them over his. It was tentative, not at all like before when touching was as natural to them as breathing. Isaiah raised his head and searched her face, scarcely breathing in fear of jolting her back to her senses. The spit in his mouth turned to powder, catching in his throat. His own limbs trembled.

“How are you feeling?” she whispered, so low it was no more than the movement of her lips shaping the words.

Isaiah licked his lips. “Disorientated. Confused,” he hesitated before saying the last part. “Scared. No!” He grabbed her hand when her fingers began to slip away. “It’s a good sort of scared.”

Her brows drew together. “How can being scared be a good thing?”

“Because I’m scared this is a dream.” He looked down at her small, pale hand. “I’m scared I’ll wake up. I’m scared this is real and you’ll change your mind.”

“Those don’t sound very good.”

He brought her hand up, pressed each slender finger to his lips, not knowing how to answer, how to tell her he never wanted to wake up if this turned out to be a dream, how the very possibility of this being real was heaven. So he said nothing.

“It’s not a dream,” she continued. “I won’t change my mind.”

He threaded their fingers, meshing their palms together. “I missed you, Ams. I’m sorry about the things—”

The finger on her free hand pressed into his lips, sealing the rest of his words inside. “You didn’t! That wasn’t you!”

“It was—”

“Wasn’t!” She licked her lips, her gaze anxious. “You were made to say those things. You wouldn’t have otherwise. I was made to do a lot of horrible things even though I didn’t want to, are those my fault, too?”

“No!” he growled, fingers tightening around hers. “Nothing that happened was your fault!”

“Then this wasn’t your fault,” she rationalized. “I already spent so much time away from you. I don’t…” She trailed off, looking down at their joined hands. “I don’t want to waste anymore time. Is that okay?”

He couldn’t help it. His body was leaning towards her even before he knew it. The heat and scent of hers called to his until his arms were around her, dragging her forward until he was on his back and she was in his arms. He pushed away the curtain of hair keeping him from her lips and kissed her.

“More than okay.”

Garrison

There was a clatter in the room that he didn’t like. Clatter meant the sedation had worn off and someone was coming to their senses.

Garrison let the doors quietly sweep closed behind him and entered his private lab. The soft weeping filled the room, as thick and impenetrable as the blackness pressing in all around. He moved by memory to the console. His fingers moved over the buttons with quick precision. Machines whirred to life from behind the veil of darkness. Overhead, lights flickered and gradually rose in brightness until it was a comfortable illumination for the eyes. He sighed when the sobbing escalated to low whines, the sound a dog makes when it’s injured.

“Oh quiet down, Tomas,” he muttered impatiently, stepping over to the second series of knobs and switches. He flicked three in rapid succession. “It won’t help bring your family back.”

The whines melted into moans. He ignored them as he took a seat in front of the computer. The little green cursor blinked, waiting for his command.

Computers. Always willing to do what they were told without question. If he could somehow get that into a human brain, well, the possibilities would be endless. The person would be perfect. But those dreams were still years away. He had to focus first on the broken pieces, the bits in the brain that refused to follow normal order. The deranged were such fascinating creatures. If he could just find the right level of medication to balance the brain, he’d be set.

With this thought still processing, he unlocked one of the doors behind him. Simultaneously, he unlatched the compartment etched into the floor of his lab and raised the stretcher.

“Come on out, Jeffery.” He twisted around in his chair to watch as the small, pale figure peeked out at him from around the partially open door.

Jeffery Christenson. Eight years old. Caucasian male with severe multiple personality disorder. Garrison knew all his children. It was his job. To know the person was to know how to fix them. Jeffery was stubborn. He refused to adjust to his new therapy. Garrison couldn’t have that. Treatment didn’t work if the patient was unwilling to participate.

“How are you feeling, Jeffery?”

The boy eyed him with hard, cold eyes.

Garrison was too used to such levels of hostilities to pay much mind. He rose out of his chair and walked over to the examination table. He patted the metal sheet.

“Up you get. We won’t be long.”

Jeffery didn’t budge. His brown eyes shot anxiously to the door behind Garrison. His entire body twitched beneath the white hospital gown.

“I wouldn’t,” Garrison warned him. “Don’t you remember what happened the last time you tried to run?”

He knew the memory caught the boy when he flinched.

“Now, let’s not make this difficult, hmm? Just climb up and we’ll make this quick. If you listen, I’ll have a cookie brought down for you.”

“He’s just a boy!” Tomas whined from his cell. “He’s just a baby, Terrell! Don’t—”

Garrison groaned, rolling his eyes. “I’m afraid you will have to wait your turn like everyone else, Tomas. You certainly didn’t seem to mind ages when you took advantage of my daughter.”

“I’m sorry!” Tomas wailed with a fresh bout of tears. “I said I was sorry! I don’t know what else you want from me. You took my life, my family—”

“Oh I am certain we can find other ways of payment.” Garrison turned his eyes back to Jeffery. “Come on then.”

Jeffery continued to resist. Tomas’ perpetual moaning didn’t help matters when Garrison was trying to keep a non-threatening face.

“Must I sedate you again, Tomas? It would be wise to do what you’re told.”

“I shouldn’t have done what I did, I know that now! Please let me go! People are going to be looking for me—”

“No they won’t,” Garrison said calmly. “Do you think me too stupid to think of that already? You and your lovely family took a much needed vacation to Colorado. It was unfortunate when your plane went down in the Rockies. They will find the bodies of your family amongst the wreckage. Yours, they will assume, disintegrated in the blast. A tragic accident. The university held a memorial service in your honor. I attended of course, as I attended the funeral of your wife and daughters. Closed casket, but the ceremony was beautiful.”

“No! No! No! No!” Tomas wailed. There was a thud and more sobbing.

Garrison ignored him, turning back to the little boy watching him with wary suspicion. “You’re not going to give me a hard time, are you, Jeffery? I promise things will be much simpler if you—”

A beep echoed through the room, muffling Tomas’ irritating sounds. Garrison turned away to check the flashing light on the console. He turned the switch.

“What is it, Marcus?”

There was a moment filled with static before a brisk, masculine voice penetrated through. “I apologize for the interruption, sir. We have a problem that requires your attention.”

Garrison sighed. “I’ll be right there.” He turned back to Jeffery. “We will continue later. Please return to your quarters.”

All too happy to comply, Jeffery scampered back to his cell and pulled the door closed behind him. Garrison reengaged the locks, dimmed the lights and left the room.

Marcus was behind his desk, idly scribbling on an open calendar. Garrison noted how feminine the fluid handwriting was, such a contrast to the six foot tall bear of a man. Marcus raised squinty brown eyes, which widened when they spotted Garrison. He quickly rose to his feet.

“Sir!”

Garrison took another peek at the calendar before focusing on the man. “You said there was a problem, Marcus.”

Marcus inclined his head in what was probably supposed to be a nod. “Yes, sir.” He snapped the calendar closed and withdrew a single sheet of paper from underneath. “The university phoned.” He hesitated, then quickly plowed on. “They canceled your seminar Thursday.”

Garrison snatched the page out of his hand. “Why?” he demanded, scanning over the precisely written note.

“They didn’t say, sir.”

Annoyance sharp, he grazed over the other items listed below the university note. “What’s all this?”

Marcus shifted. “The board called, sir. They…”

“They what?” Garrison growled, already seeing the answer sketched flawlessly in Marcus’ handwriting. “What is the meaning of this?”

Despite the beads of sweat glistening above his brow, Marcus kept a blank mask on his face. “They gave no reason, only that they were withdrawing their backing. They recommended that if you had questions, to contact them.”

Infuriated now, Garrison waved the page at Marcus. “They better believe I will contact them! This is unacceptable. I created them and they’re turning
me
down? Me? Do they have any idea who I am?”

“I’m not sure, sir,” Marcus said lamely.

Garrison ignored him as he spun on his heels and marched through the corridors towards his office. He shut himself inside and stormed to his desk.

Hugo Jacobs’ prim and proper secretary picked up after the third ring. Her prudish voice announced Hugo’s office and asked politely what she could do for him.

“This is Terrell Garrison calling to speak with—”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Garrison, but Mr. Jacobs does not wish to be disturbed at this time.”

Garrison believed that about as much as he believed cows could fly. “This is a matter of importance. It is urgent that I speak—”

“I understand the nature of your call, Mr. Garrison, and Mr. Jacobs instructed me to tell you his decision is final,” she said curtly.

Garrison’s insides roiled. His palms began to sweat. He tried to keep the anxiety, fear and anger from his voice when he answered in what he hoped was a professional manner. “I can respect his decision if I knew why. Do you think you could ask him that for me? We have been partners for years—”