Touching Eternity (Touch Series 1.5) (30 page)

“What’s wrong?” Isaiah knelt in front of her chair.

Amalie frowned, erasing the remaining shreds of her humiliation with vicious swipes of her hands. “Nothing.”

He started reaching for her hands, but stopped himself when she tensed. He spoke softly, despite the tight clench of his fists. “You were always a horrible liar.”

She looked into his face, lovingly tracing every curve and slash of it with her eyes. She had missed his face. She had missed the thickness of his lashes, the blue of his eyes, the full curve of his lips. She missed the way his bangs always fell over his eyes and the way his nose was just a little crooked.

In the week that passed, she tried to verbally forgive him. She could see how much he yearned for it, saw it in his eyes every time he looked at her. The pain, frustration and regret blazed like twin coals behind every longing glance. But she could never get the words to touch her lips. Inside, she knew she forgave him. She loved him too much not to. Yet something stopped her every time she tried and she didn’t know what.

“Are you hungry?”

When he wasn’t sitting around waiting for her to talk to him, notice him, he was trying to feed her. He was never satisfied. No matter how much she ate to appease him, he always found reasons to stuff something else down her throat.

“How are you getting all this stuff?” she asked, tossing a pointed glance towards the mountain of dirty dishes piled high on her desk.

“Ruth,” he said simply, offering her a small, mischievous grin. “I think she thinks I’m pregnant.”

Amalie couldn’t help it, she laughed. “I don’t blame her. You’ve been down there eight times since this morning.”

“Well someone needs to feed you.” he muttered, staring grudgingly at the place between his feet. “You’re too damn skinny.”

“I’ve always been skinny!” she reminded him.

He didn’t respond, but his eyes had gotten dark, almost angry before he turned them away, turned them over his shoulder to the man sitting across the room by the door.

“I wonder if he blinks,” Isaiah said from the corner of his mouth, just loud enough for her to hear.

Amalie scowled at him with no real heat behind it. “Leave him alone. Derek is very nice.”

“For a statue.” He turned those blue eyes on her, searching her face. “Want to go for a walk? You’ve been in this room for a week.”

She looked away, dropping her gaze to her hands. “I don’t know. What if—”

“You can’t just sit here forever hoping your father will forget about you,” he interrupted. “Besides, I want to talk to you about something. Not here!” he said when she opened her mouth.

Her gaze darted to Derek. Her brows furrowed. “He might not want—”

Isaiah took her hand, dragging her to her feet and away from the terrace windows. “He can’t stop us.”

She wasn’t sure how true that was. Both men looked highly capable of taking down any threat that came their way and both were reasonably equally matched in height and weight. But when Isaiah led her to the door, towards where Derek sat watching them, she noticed Derek had several inches on Isaiah which were far more pronounced once Derek rose to his feet and towered over them.

Unconsciously, Amalie gripped Isaiah’s hand more tightly with both of hers. Even though she knew Derek wouldn’t hurt her, Isaiah was in danger.

“Got a problem?” Isaiah challenged, squaring off with the other man.

Derek eyed him coolly. Then, his gaze darted to where Amalie stood pressed into Isaiah’s side, watching him with wide eyes. He exhaled through his nose.

“I have to come with you,” he told her.

Amalie opened her mouth to tell him that was fine, but Isaiah beat her to it. “Whatever floats your boat, pal.”

He shoved past Derek, wrenched the door open and stalked out, dragging Amalie with him.

“You didn’t have to be so rude!” she scolded him, partially running to keep up with his wide strides.

“He started it.”

She started to ask how, but stopped herself as the wide, double doors came into view.

Sunlight pierced through the colored glass, spilling pale reds, greens and yellows across the hardwood floor. The beauty of it had nothing to do with the image of angel carved into the glass. It was the possibility beyond that spurred her onward.

“Amalie.”

Isaiah’s hand tightened around hers even before the gruff voice slammed into her spine like a physical blow. She staggered forward, tripping on her own feet. Isaiah caught her, righted her, but then stuffed her behind his back as they turned to face the tall, shadowy figure coming at them with slow, easy strides.

Every muscle in Amalie’s body tensed. Her stomach writhed as though snakes had taken residence. Sweat slicked the fingers she tried to tighten around Isaiah’s hand.

Her father observed her through flat, green eyes. He never seemed to notice Isaiah or the protective stance he had in front of Amalie, or Derek shifting his weight as well towards her. “You’re out of your room.” It was not a question, nor did he sound pleased about it.

Oh God was she not supposed to be? Had she missed something? The gyrating thoughts spun in her mind, making her dizzy and lightheaded. For a panicked moment she wondered if she had enough time to run back, but Isaiah was speaking then, drawing the attention away from her.

“I was taking her to the gardens,” he said evenly.

It finally seemed to register that Amalie wasn’t alone when Garrison’s gaze swung to the man at her side. He blinked, surprised to find Isaiah there, but he caught himself quickly and the impassive mask slipped back into place.

“Perhaps later. I need a moment with Amalie.”

No!
Her mind gasped, but her lips were too frozen to repeat the protest.

“All right,” Isaiah said with too much calm.

Garrison turned and started back the way he’d come, expecting Amalie to follow. But Amalie’s kneecaps had locked into place, refusing to allow her even a single step.

“It’s all right,” Isaiah whispered to her.

Amalie stared transfixed and petrified after her father. “I knew I should have stayed in my room. I should have stayed!”

Isaiah stepped into her line of vision, blocking the sight of Garrison’s stiff back and forcing her to look up into his face. “Nothing is going to happen. I’m going to be with you I promise.”

She shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. “You can’t promise that.”

He framed her face between his hands. “I. Promise!” He stressed each word carefully through his teeth.

Needing to believe him, she let herself be led through the maze of corridors to the only room that could turn her bowels to liquid. Sweat dampened her dress to her spine and plastered strands of hair to her temples. Her bones creaked with every violent tremor that tightened her grip a little more each time around Isaiah’s hand. If it was hurting him, he never said.

The stench of antiseptic punched them in the face the moment the door was opened. Garrison stepped back and motioned for her to continue in. He held up a hand when Isaiah followed.

“You can wait outside,” Garrison told him.

Amalie’s hands tightened around Isaiah’s.

Isaiah didn’t seem to notice as he blinked at Garrison in surprise. “Outside?” He shook his head. “But I thought…” He let his voice trail off and his eyebrows bunch in confusion.

“Yes?” Garrison prompted.

Isaiah shrugged. “I just thought you wanted me to learn more about what you do. I can’t learn anything if you shut me out.”

If Garrison was surprised by the remark or Isaiah’s sudden interested in the family business, his face never conveyed it. He stared into Isaiah’s face, his own perfectly blank.

“And what changed your mind?” he drawled. “You seemed so abhorred by my ethics only last week.”

Isaiah never so much as batted an eyelash. He kept Garrison’s gaze levelly and replied, “I took some time to consider it and realized you were right. Drastic measures need to be taken sometimes in order to accomplish a bigger goal.”

Garrison’s eyebrows jerked up his forehead. It was the only true reaction from him. “And what is the goal here?”

“To make Amalie better.” He paused, then added, “And change the way people see the mentally defective.”

Garrison shook his head. “No. Our job is to right the wrong nature has done on people by eliminating the disease that handicaps them.”

Isaiah nodded slowly, all the pretenses of an eager pupil. “Right.”

Garrison stepped back, his green eyes never leaving Isaiah. “You will not interfere, is that understood?”

Again, Isaiah nodded. “Understood, sir.”

“You will observe only.”

Without a word, Isaiah dragged Amalie into the room. He took a glance around and Amalie wondered what the room looked through his eyes, wondered if he saw the evil that lurked in every corner. Somehow she doubted it. She had a personal connection to the white walls, to the metal slab, the unnaturally bright lights and the sickening stench that never seemed to lift. It was as much a part of her as her arms.

“On the table, Amalie,” her father said, shutting the door, but not before Amalie caught sight of Derek hovering in the corridor shadows, a dark expression twisting his face.

Carefully, she released Isaiah and shuffled to the examination table. It wasn’t until the palms of her hands touched the icy sheet that she wished with all her might that Isaiah wasn’t there, about to watch her at her weakest state. She didn’t want him to see what would be done to her. She didn’t want him to see her break.

Her vision swam with tears as she hefted herself up, twisted her torso and lay down. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on the blinding lights above, willing herself not to steal a peek at him, not wanting to see his expression.

Shuffles alerted her to her father’s approach. Her stomach muscles seized. She closed her eyes.

Rubber encased fingers prodded her throat, ran the lengths of her arms, her legs. They peeled apart her eyelids to peer into her eyes. Aside from the scuffle of her father’s shoes, no sound issued anywhere in the room.

“What’s that for?” The unexpected sound of Isaiah’s voice jolted through the room like thunder, startling Amalie. Her eyes snapped open and she turned her head.

Her father was walking towards her again, blocking her of Isaiah, but giving her a clear view of the needle in his hand. Her stomach churned.

“Lysergic acid diethylamide,” Garrison answered evenly, lifting the syringe and giving the side a couple of flicks. “With an extra boost to speed things up.”

To Amalie, the title meant nothing. She wasn’t even sure she could pronounce much of it. But the sharp inhale from Isaiah warned her it wasn’t something she wanted injected into her body.

“LSD. That’s the stuff you were giving Hans, isn’t it?”

Garrison gave a sharp nod. “That’s correct.”

“Why are you giving her that?” Isaiah asked, taking a step forward to stand next to Garrison. His face was blank, but Amalie knew him too well not to notice the tension rippling down the length of his body.

Garrison stopped and turned to him. “We have been having such great success with this in the lab. Perhaps with this the chemical imbalance in her brain will level out and help her cope with more ease. With a few minute adjustments, we may even successfully erase certain events.”

Isaiah’s brows dipped, but on his composed features, it merely looked contemplating. “You want her to forget what happened?”

Garrison cocked his head ever so slightly, thoughtfully. “Don’t you?” Isaiah didn’t answer and Garrison didn’t seem to need one as he continued. “This brand has been modified to move directly through the system with no delay. We won’t have to hardly wait for a reaction.”

Amalie stiffened when rubbery fingers touched the underside of her elbow. Her fingers bunched into fists at her sides and she gritted her teeth.