Touching Eternity (Touch Series 1.5) (9 page)

“Where’d the boss find you?”

Exasperated, tired and harboring a crippling headache, Isaiah, twisted his head back to the window, and muttered, “Your sister’s bed.”

The car fishtailed as Lew twisted nearly right around in his seat, his face a puddle of crimson and purple. “What did you say?”

Bruce, grabbing the wheel and, righting the car, used his free hand to yank Lew back into his seat. “Sit your ass down!”

“Boy’s asking for my fist in his face!” Lew snarled, taking possession of the car once more.

“You had it coming,” Bruce replied evenly. “Ain’t none of your damn business! Now, drive!”

Lew didn’t try making conversation with Isaiah again. The rest of the drive went by in a blissful sort of silence that Isaiah let himself get wrapped in. He closed his eyes.

***

“
Isaiah! Find me!” Amalie’s high-pitched squealing giggles filled the corridors, a rolling symphony of joy and elation.

Isaiah hated hide-and-seek. Hated all the dark places he was forced to crawl into. He hated having to sit there and wait until she found him. He hated being alone.

“
I don’t want to play!” he barked back, stuffing his hands into his pockets and stalking away. Let her play by herself.

Footsteps hurried after him. For a split second, he stiffened, braced and whipped around, fists clenched.

Long curls of auburn bounced around a pink, smiling face as Amalie ran towards him, blue eyes twinkling. “Oh come on, Isaiah!”

“
No!” he growled a little harsher than he’d meant to, hating the memories that swelled up inside him, threatened to choke him. The memories of starving, of being curled up in a cold, dank hole, waiting like a rat for someone to throw him a scrap of food curdled in the back of his throat. He remembered waiting for his mother’s john to leave without noticing him so he could finally leave his hiding place. Even at six years old, he knew what his mother did behind the ratty blanket strung up in some pathetic attempt to protect his innocence.

“
Let’s play a game, Isaiah,” his mother would whisper, pressing a finger to her lips, her eyes dancing with mischief. “You hide and I’ll find you. No peeking. Keep your eyes closed and your ears covered, okay?”

He only had the one hiding place, inside the cupboard in the kitchen, but he would hide because it was a game and she always found him. She hadn’t anticipated getting beaten to death or that the cord holding up the blanket would be the weapon of choice, the final piece of jewelry she would ever wear around her pale throat. Two years later and the memory of her cold, bruised, splayed body pressed into the back of his mind when he closed his eyes.

His fist plowed into the wall, the pain shattering the black cloud closing bony fingers around him. “It’s a stupid game!” he screamed. “You’re stupid!”

She came to a skidding stop. Her hands flew up to her mouth, now void of her bright smile. Her big, blue eyes were wide, the only color against her face. She stared at him in that way he hated more than playing hide-and-seek. It was a look he’d seen too often on the streets from kids expecting a beating.

“
Stop that!” he shouted, throwing his arms up. She flinched, stumbling back several steps. “Stop it!” He charged after her, wanting to grab her, stop her from backing away from him, make her stop looking at him as if he were going to backhand her.

She gasped, scampered back, tripped and hit the floor with a force that made him wince. She scuttled back, her eyes enormous now, glistening with tears.

“
Stop it!” he screamed again, furious now with himself, with her. “Stop running!”

She did, only to curl her seven year old body up, drawing her knees to her forehead and wrapping her arms over her head. She was rocking. Rocking and sobbing…sobbing.

A snarl left him before he could stop it. The wall took his frustrations with a vicious kick. Her whimper tore at him.

“
Stop crying!” Panic edged into his plea. He dropped down in front of her, grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Stop crying, Amalie!”

Eyes the color of a summer sky rose up, wet with tears and brimming with fear met his over the folds of her arms. “Don’t hurt me!” she pleaded.

His hands dropped away. He fell back on his
haunches
, glowered. “I’m not going to hurt you, stupid. You’re such a big baby!” He wiped his damp palms on his pants. “Come on. I’ll play your dumb game. Just quit bawling.”

She sniffled, wiped her nose on her arm. “I’m not a baby!”

He snorted, got to his feet. “Sure you’re not.” he stretched his hand out to her, hesitant. He hated people touching him, but didn’t mind it so much when it was her. “You can have my turn.”

Her face was still streaked with tears, but she smiled, slow, tentative. “I’m going to hide real good this time!”

***

Isaiah jolted, bolted upright, his heart lodged somewhere in his throat. Darkness pressed around him, crushing him in the memories…the nightmares. God would he never be free of them? Of her?

He swiped damp hands over his sweaty face, back into his hair, struggling to control his breathing. His gaze swept over the dark interior of the Buick, at the back of Lew’s head, the side of Bruce’s face, the stretch of nothingness all around them. Had he fallen asleep? It couldn’t have been for very long.

Through the windshield, the headlights sparked off the silver gates guarding home, and his stomach muscles clenched. He had to bite his lip to keep from telling Lew to pull over and let him out. He had to remind himself he had no reason to run. He had done nothing wrong. He’d stopped it before it could go too far, hadn’t he? He’d destroyed them both to keep her safe. Didn’t that count for something?

No,
he realized as the car rolled through the opening, into the circular driveway paved in marble. It wasn’t enough. His betrayal, he would never be able to pay that back. What he’d done to Amalie…he deserved hell. He deserved torture. He deserved this!

A new sort of apprehension iced his skin as a chilling realization struck him — his sanity would never survive this place.

Amalie

Four walls of tiles. One floor of laminate. One ceiling speckled with glittered stucco. One tub. One sink. One toilet. Amalie stood immobilized on the threshold between her bedroom and a bathroom she’d used a million times.

Behind her, October poured a sick, gray light into her room, darkening all the corners. The heavily regulated oatmeal perfumed the air with its aroma of burned rubber, overcooked sewage and medication. Rivers of ice flowed through her veins, hardening in her system until she was sure any movement would result in the shattering of limbs.

Her gaze flittered to the shower head, dripping steadily into the china basin. It shot to the sink faucet. Her stomach knotted. Bile coated her throat.

It’s not the same!
It wasn’t the same. She had control here. She could turn it off!

With terror chilling the inner linings of her abdomen, she edged into the room. Her kneecaps squeaked in protest. The floor was colder than usual against the bottom of her feet as she shuffled to the sink and stopped. There was a tremor in her fingers as she reached for the nozzle.

The first pulse of rushing water sent her heart scuttling into her throat. Her bowels turned. Cold sweat pooled beneath her arms, trickled down her spine.

Breathe!
She willed herself, squeezing her eyes closed and counting slowly to twenty.
You’ve done this a billion times!

The cold water was a shock straight to the soul. One splash to her face and she was back in the coffin, back in that room, being lowered into the metal bin. The water was reaching for her, rolling over her, pulling her under…drowning her. She couldn’t breathe!

She surfaced with a choked gasp. It took several attempts before she could snap the water off and stagger out of the bathroom at a run.

Outside, the ocean roared. It competed with the thump of her heart beating an erratic tattoo within the confines of her chest. Her knees crumpled beneath her like tinfoil. She hit the hardwood floor with her palms, sunk until her burning cheek rested against the coolness. She closed her eyes.

***

“
Amalie! It’s not funny!”

Squishing her giggles behind her palm, Amalie darted past the marble statue of Venus and quickly ducked behind the God Ares. The smooth slab of stone pressed cool against the sweat dampening her dress to her spine. She closed her eyes a moment, relishing the relief from the angry sun.

It was too hot to be out. Even the birds had taken shelter amongst the twisted branches of the trees. But Amalie hadn’t seen Isaiah in months, six to be exact. Not since Christmas. Not since he’d been shipped off back to that stupid school of his. And this was their game, scorching summer or blistering winter. This was theirs. Whatever happened between the times he came home no longer existed, they were no longer important. He was home. He was with her again. She wasn’t alone anymore. She wasn’t scared.

“
We’re getting too old for this!” But there was laughter in his voice. “I’m going inside for ice cream. Better come out or I’ll eat yours!”

He would, too! She thought, wrinkling her nose. But she stayed. Some traditions were just too important to break, even for ice cream.

The soft rustle of his feet against grass drew closer. Amalie straightened. The muscles of her stomach tightened. Her heart thundered. She bit her lip, biding her time.

She heard him sigh. “I had a surprise for you, but if you’re going to—”

Game forgotten, she poked her head around the statue, her eyes wide. “What surprise?”

Beautiful in the black trousers and white dress shirt of his school uniform, Isaiah grinned. He raised a hand and scooped back the long fringes of hair falling into his breathtaking eyes.

“
I don’t know if I want to give it to you now, making me look for you like that.”

“
That isn’t fair!”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Well, neither is you making me run all over the place.” He tipped his head to the side. “Are you going to come out from behind there?”

Scowling at him, she stepped out, and watched him go rigid. The smile slipped off his face about the same time as his coloring. His eyebrows scuttled up his forehead as his eyes widened to saucer-size. The muscles in his jaw flexed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He took a step back like she’d grown another head, like he had no idea who she was.

“
What?” she demanded defensively, dropping her gaze to the white sundress with large, purple lavenders splattered all over.

He closed his eyes, shook his head. “Nothing.” He opened his eyes, blinked them, thrust out a hand. “Here!”

Amalie jumped, not expecting to nearly be punched in the nose by the thing in his hand.

Isaiah winced, drew back his arm slightly. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Here.”

She looked down at the offering with a bit of surprise. It was white and slightly crumpled like old tissue. “What is it?”

Now it was his turn to look down at his hand. “It’s a…hair…thing
.”
He circled his own head with his free hand. “You put it in your hair.”

Cautious, she took it from him, startled when he jerked back at the first brush of their fingers. He cleared his throat again, stuffed his hands into his pockets and muttered an apology. Slanting him an odd glance, she turned her attention to the offering.

It was scraps of fabric bunched together and restricted with a clip. She turned the clip over, smoothed out the crushed folds so they fell open around her palm.

“
A lily!” she exclaimed, overjoyed by the gift. She raised her eyes to his. “Where’d you get it?”