Touching Eternity (Touch Series 1.5) (13 page)

“The second floor is where we do the blood work and run the tests. It’s also our main archive with files on everyone who has ever passed through these doors.”

“Do they ever leave?” Isaiah asked, staring, almost hypnotized by the blinking lights over the door.

“Some,” Garrison said after a moment. “Some are easily fixed and sent home to live a full normal life. Other times no. It’s not safe to release them.”

“So they live down here, underground until…when?”

Garrison turned to him. Isaiah felt the other man’s eyes on him, but he felt too tired to look back. “It’s for their own good, Isaiah. These people are dangerous. It’s my job as a doctor to protect life. As soon as they begin to show signs of progress, I do everything in my power to send them home.” He turned forward again. “And no, they don’t always stay underground. They are allowed escorted free time topside for good behavior.”

“When’s the last time Amalie was allowed
free time
?”

The elevator stopped. The door opened. But neither made any effort to evacuate.

Despite his brave words, Isaiah didn’t dare glance at the man burning holes into the side of his head. He stared at the enormous room opened on the other side of the door as if waiting for something spectacular to happen.

“I’m disappointed,” Garrison said, his voice unnaturally even. “I expected you to know better.”

With his displeasure lingering, Garrison stalked past Isaiah and exited the lift.

Isaiah didn’t follow. He watched his feet with burning self-loathing and guilt. Garrison was right, he should have known better. No one knew Amalie’s situation better than he did. How could he say such things?

He hurried after the man just as the door started rolling shut. It
bonged
and jerked open, startled by his sudden leap into the voluminous space.

The room was oval, painted the same blinding white as everything else. A vague, distracted part of his brain wondered who maintained and kept the place so clean. It couldn’t have been an easy task. But somehow, it all gleamed beneath the bright, fluorescent lights. A smattering of square tables occupied most of the space. A solid wall of windows took up the outer edges of the room, overlooking…sky?

It was a vast stretch of white, spotted with vague smears of pale-blue. For a disorientating moment, he wondered just how high they were to be seeing such altitudes, then he remembered they were underground, hidden away from the world by secret passages. It was just another illusion, kind of like the windows in the labs. Only there wasn’t anyone looking in on the other side of these windows.

Men and women in crisp, white jackets sat around the tables, poring over notes, chatting with others or eating. The heavy scent of burned pasta lingered in the air, overpowering the lingering aroma of grease, fried meat and pine cleaner. Isaiah took it all in with a quick, single once over before quickening his strides to catch up to Garrison’s stiff figure.

Garrison, if he heard his approach, never glanced back, never slowed his wide treads. He cut through the cafeteria with a single-minded purpose.

With every commanding stride, Isaiah was struck a little more with a stone mallet of guilt. The other man’s silence was like a serrated blade cutting thousands of small, shallow nicks all over his soul and then rolling him in salt. A very large, panicked part of him wanted to throw himself in front of Garrison and beg for forgiveness. It was only the hundred or so pairs of eyes watching their transition through the room that kept him restrained, kept his blank mask firmly in place.

Garrison moved ahead, an unyielding presence that suffocated noise like a smothering blanket. His glossy shoes became the only sound shattering the hollow echo of the once active room. Isaiah tried to make his own boot falls mute, but failed.

Without giving any one person a single glance, Garrison passed through a set of double doors with Isaiah at his heels. The room behind them resumed a steady hum of conversation as if nothing out of the ordinary had just taken place.

“I’m sorry,” Isaiah said in a single rush of air.

Garrison remained tight lipped, his gaze trained firmly forward. It was as if Isaiah didn’t exist. That stabbing moment of absolute panic as he realized he’d upset the man he idolized nearly sent Isaiah to his knees in sheer terror. He boiled in his fears as he battled with the urge to throw up as the weight crushed him.

Eons crept by, a sluggish crawl of torment. Isaiah bit down on his tongue until the sharp taste of copper filled his mouth. He would not succumb to groveling, not in front of so many.

The corridor curved, a winding white snake cutting through the earth. Isaiah wondered how anyone could stand being so far underground. How they all hadn’t gone stark crazy. There were no windows and the air smelled the same. He could almost feel claustrophobia setting in. He would have clawed his way out if it were possible.

“I have work that needs doing.” Isaiah nearly jumped out of his skin at the unexpected command of words. “Why don’t you head on home. I will see you at supper.”

Isaiah swallowed the bile choking him before responding, “But I thought you wanted me to see the—”

Garrison stopped and turned to him. His features were a solid wall of indifference. “I think you’ve seen enough for today.”

“But—”

Garrison had already turned away. He strode several steps, widening the gap between them until it was the Grand Canyon, but his words were shards of ice, slicing through flesh when he spoke again.

“Jake will take you back to the car.”

It was as if he was summoned by his name alone. The bear-sized man in black camo gear ambled up behind Isaiah and folded his arms. The scowl on his face warned Isaiah not to give him a hard time.

Isaiah turned back to Garrison, confusion and hurt threatening to suffocate him. “Sir?”

But Garrison was already moving soundlessly down the hall.

Garrison

Garrison veered away from his office, the excitement in showing Isaiah the spare desk inside draining. It had meant so much to him for Isaiah to see how well he would fit into the world Garrison envisioned. The twin of his desk had been an impulse decision, something he rarely had, but it had looked fitting next to his. He had no doubt that Isaiah would one day take his place and continue on his work. Had Amalie been a male and sane, it would be her Garrison would show around, teach and mold. Luck hadn’t been on his side in that regard.

But it had hand delivered him Isaiah. The perfect replacement. Stubborn at first, so defiant, so adamant to think Garrison a monster, but it hadn’t lasted very long. Like all molding clay, Isaiah had come together beautifully with a little kneading.

It was unfortunate Isaiah was coming undone from Garrison’s perfect sculpting, albeit maybe it was time. Isaiah never did go through that rebellious stage. Garrison had begun to think maybe they’d bypassed the hormones all together, but he wasn’t worried. Isaiah was still young. He was still malleable. Garrison would just have to convince him that his way was the best way.

The corridor arched inward deep into the labyrinth of chambers. He passed no one, as it should be. No one but he had any access to this part of the facilities. It was the one part in the tour he would have waited until much later to show Isaiah.

The guards stationed outside the steel doors stiffened when Garrison approached. They straightened, and as one, shifted apart. Neither made eye contact with him. The scanner was warm beneath his palm as it verified his identity. Matilda’s soft greeting followed the
whoosh
of compressed air releasing as the seals disengaged. Garrison stepped inside, waited until the doors latched behind him before making his way to the illuminated dais. The only light in the suffocating darkness.

Lights flared to life with just the placement of his palm on the reader. Like the fingers on a skeleton, lights flickered on down five separate sections that extended from the circular chamber he stood in. The sleek consoles bracketing either side of the main entrance sparked with a series of colorful lights. The synchronized hums, the soft bleeps of machines coming to life, were music to his ears. For a moment, he even closed his eyes as the familiar scent of his work wafted around him like the warmth of a blanket. It was the scuffle at the far end of one of the corridors that had him remembering why he was there, what needed to be done.

“Good morning, children,” he offered the pale, scared faces peering back at him from behind laminated glass a smile. “I hope you all slept well. We have a lot to accomplish today.”

Amalie

She was too old to be hiding, but when your emotions were constantly on display, every flicker quickly medicated, hiding was all you had and at that moment, disappearing off the face of the earth sounded like heaven.

Outside the circular window, lightning flashed, blanketing the musty attic with a burst of illumination that lit up the boxes, forgotten pieces of furniture, clothes from different eras and scampering mice. Rain serenaded the miserable gloom. The entire place smelled of mold, dust and rot, but it was familiar. It was dark. It was compiled of memories she needed at that moment.

Across the room, rusted hinges squeaked. Streaks of light spiked the darkness as the wood groaned beneath weight. The orange halo bobbed as the intruder hefted themself into the dark place with her. The hatch door banged into place.

“
Amalie.” Isaiah’s soft voice peeled away the emptiness enfolding her. She closed her eyes as his warm voice replaced the chill.

Why did it have to be him? Why did he always have to find her? Why couldn’t he just let her disappear into the nothing she’d come from?

The floorboards groaned as he crossed in her direction. His boots scuffed loudly in the silence. She held her breath, hoping, praying he would just leave. Instead, the light crept closer until his silhouette pressed into the white sheet draped over the antique table. It glinted off the shiny toes of her shoes. She drew her knees tighter to her chest, scurrying back into the darkness.

She saw him crouch down, saw him reach forward, then the sheet was drawn away and he was peering in at her, his small smile illuminated by the candle in his hand.

“
Hey.”

The sight of him ripped at her heart. She almost couldn’t even bear to meet his eyes, her own were stinging with tears. She turned her head away, pressing her face deeper into the folds of her arms.

She heard the soft click of metal against wood. She heard him shift and grunt. Then he was crawling under the table with her. His shoulder and hip bumped hers as he positioned himself. She jerked away. If he noticed, he made no comment about it.

“
I remember this being a whole lot bigger…”

She couldn’t help it. She stole a peek and nearly laughed. He sat hugging his ankles, his knees wide apart around his ears. His shoulders were hunched inwards and the top of his head kept brushing the underside of the table. He looked very uncomfortable in the soft, orange light.

“
I saw that,” he muttered.

Biting her lip, Amalie quickly turned way again, burrowing her face deeper into the crock of her arm.

He cleared his throat. “You know the idea of hide-and-seek…you have to let the other person know you’re hiding. Otherwise, it defeats the purpose.”

She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. How could she tell him that he was the one she was hiding from? How could she tell him what she’d done? He would be so angry, so hurt. She couldn’t stand it if he became upset, all because she was stupid. She was so stupid. She was an idiot.

“
Hey!” His fingers combed back the patch of hair she was using as a curtain between them. “What happened? Are you scared of the storm? The lights will be back on soon.”

No. She hadn’t been afraid of storms in years. It was almost a comfort now. Whenever her problems seemed to be at their worst, the storm’s rage always made her think it had bigger problems than even she.

He lightly touched her arm. “Amalie—God, you’re freezing!” His hand jerked away.