Touching Eternity (Touch Series 1.5) (6 page)

The boy had gone ashen with tinges of gray around his cheeks. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“Yes, sir?”

“Are you all right?”

Isaiah pushed higher up in his chair, straightened his spine. “Yes, sir. I’m just…”

He didn’t need to finish.

“I understand,” Garrison said.

Isaiah blinked. “You do?”

He rose, smoothed a hand over his suit front. “Of course.” He wandered over to the drink cart. “You worry about her.”

He heard Isaiah’s exhale from across the room. “Yes, sir, I do.”

Garrison lingered over the cart, pouring lemon-scented tea into the delicate teacup, then adding just the right amount of sugar and cream to turn it a soft brown. The spoon made a melodious tinkling sound as he stirred.

“I believe you do.” He turned to face the younger man, still stirring. “And I believe you have her best interests at heart.”

Isaiah nodded. “I do, sir.”

Garrison returned to the desk, set his cup down and regained his seat. “I really believe you would do whatever it takes to help her.”

“I would, sir.”

“Why?” He knew the question caught the other man by surprise.

Isaiah faltered. He stiffened. He said nothing. But he didn’t have to. Garrison already knew the answer. He was a doctor. It was his job to examine people, to diagnose them and to get into their heads and see how they ticked. He knew the workings of a man’s mind better than anyone. Isaiah wasn’t as clever as he liked to believe. Garrison knew every motivation behind every thought.

Nevertheless, he waited for Isaiah to tell him.

The boy leaned forward in his seat, sliding his palms up his thighs, then down as he sat back. The nervous gesture nearly amused him.

“She accepted me,” Isaiah said at long last, staring fixedly at the lip of Garrison’s desk. “She was the only one that didn’t think I was…garbage.”

“You think you owe her for that?”

Blue eyes rose, pinned his levelly. “She was the only friend I ever had and she didn’t want anything in return except…” he faltered, shut his mouth as if to lock the rest from getting out.

But now Garrison was intrigued. “Except what?”

Isaiah looked away. His brows furrowed. His jaw muscles tensed. “Except for me not to think she was crazy.”

“And did you? Think she was crazy,” he added when Isaiah frowned.

“No. Never.” He dampened his lips. “I always believed she was just lonely.”

Garrison sat back as far as the chair would allow and studied the boy across from him thoughtfully. His own mind wasn’t fully made up about what he was about to say, but he was convinced enough to consider it good research material. Isaiah needed to be tested. His loyalty needed to be put into question. His concern was endearing, but it would take much more than concern to do what Garrison did. It would take getting his hands dirty and putting logic before heart.

“I don’t believe Amalie is ready to interact with people,” he began slowly, carefully. “I don’t believe she ever will be. Abigail…” His gaze flittered to the stack of folders on the corner of his desk and flittered away again just as quickly. “Abigail was very sociable on her good days, days she took her medication and was supervised around the clock. But she never stayed that way when the sickness took over. Then she was violent and irate, impossible to control. She wouldn’t even recognize Amalie on those days. You know how that turned out.”

Isaiah nodded, face grave. “Yes, sir.”

“I won’t let that happen to Amalie. I won’t let Amalie follow her mother’s mistakes. She needs structure and discipline. I don’t think change this quick in the game would be good for her. She went through a very bad time after you left last year. I don’t want that to happen again. It was very hard to pull her out and I’m still struggling.”

Isaiah’s head drooped. “I understand, sir.”

Garrison’s eyes narrowed. “That’s it? You won’t fight me on the decision?”

He shook his head. “No, I want what’s best for her. I want her to get better. I know if anyone can do it, it’s you, sir.”

His loyalties and his faith warmed Garrison. It reminded him why he cherished this boy so deeply. It wasn’t because he’d spent thousands of dollars to make him into the man standing before him. It was because they both shared something, something vital, something no other possessed, something that couldn’t be taught. It was a primal need to survive, to do whatever it took to make it. It was calculated cruelty in its most concentrated form. It was the hunger to mold the world into something stronger. It was that spark Garrison wanted. If he could channel it, use it, there would be no stopping him. He would be in control. With Isaiah at his side, nothing would ever be able to stop them.

Yes, he mused, feeling a surge of elation. Isaiah would make the perfect leader for his army.

And every leader needed to be tested.

“I need you to do something for me.”

Isaiah straightened. “Yes, sir?”

He took a moment to sip the drink that had gone cold.
Not enough sugar.
He set the cup down once more, leaned back. His gaze lifted to search the eyes watching him, waiting. Honest eyes, he mused. They hadn’t always been. It had taken years to earn the trust the boy guarded greedily, but he had known that once he did, the boy would prove to be very useful. His unfaltering loyalty would become a great asset.

A handy trait in a solider. He just needed a small push.

“What I’m about to ask of you, I need you to give me your solemn vow you will not divulge to anyone.”

A crease appeared in the center of Isaiah’s brow, but he answered firmly, “Yes, sir.”

Garrison paused, not out of hesitation, but to be fully prepared for Isaiah’s reaction when he finally said the words. “I need you to take care of a problem I’m having with a colleague.”

Amalie

Amalie opened her eyes to a mouthful of gritty sand, a head full of angry hornets and a devastating drum of pain throbbing down her spine. Her vision swam as she parted her lashes. Sharp spears of light stabbed her straight through the skull, infuriating the irate buzzing resounding between her ears. She started to raise her hand, needing to wipe away the tears blinding her, when her wrists caught on something, jerked and were yanked back down to her sides. The familiar clang of metal clattering against metal resonated like thunder through the room.

Amalie willed herself not to panic. She begged herself not to make a sound. But they knew she was awake now. The maddening hum of whispered voices had begun to rise over her labored breathing, overpowering the stench of antiseptic.

“Lay still, Amalie.” Her father’s face appeared above her, half of his face covered behind a white mask. His hair was tucked beneath a white cap. His crisp suit was hidden beneath a white smock.

Her disorientation ceased smothering her. She became painfully alert. “Wha—”

Cold rubber grazed the curve of her neck as he checked her pulse. He studied his watch as he counted her heartbeats.

“Just a test.” Her father said. Then, to someone over her head, said, “Two CC’s then get the tank.”

Everything inside her liquefied in terror. The sheet of metal piercing her spine dropped below zero in temperature and the sweat now dampening the paper gown thickened on her skin. The shackles around her ankles cluttered as she tried to sit up.

“Wait—”

“Don’t start that again,” her father retorted sharply, knotting a pinching rubber band around her upper arm. “I won’t hesitate to sedate you if you don’t calm down. Do you understand?”

“But I don’t…” She dampened her lips. Her neck twisted on her shoulders as she tried desperately to find the source of the voices, to find a single friendly face to help her.

“Just lie still and it will be over before you know it,” her father suggested, turning his body to accept the syringe another man in a white robe presented him.

Amalie was squeezing her eyes closed and turning her head away even before the first sharp tap of her father’s fingers against the crook of her arm, before needle even touched her skin. A small whimper escaped her before she could stop it. Her jaw creaked beneath the pressure of her clenched teeth.

“Nearly finished,” her father assured, switching the crimson-filled vial for an empty one.

It seemed to take years before the needle was ejected from her body. The area was dabbed with cotton, but left unaided. Amalie opened her eyes at last, turning her head to search her father’s masked face for signs of what he would do next.

The examination room was a room designed to instate calm. The once concrete walls were plastered over and painted a jarring white. The floors were white. The ceiling was white. The people who entered and left were dressed in white. The only color was her hair, falling in copper tangles over the lip of the metal slab. Above her, brighter, hotter than the sun, the only light in the room poured its rays down over her face like acid. Chains fused to the base of the table shackled her wrists and her ankles, the unyielding leather sliced her skin, bruised her flesh.

There was nothing calming about the room in Amalie’s mind. There was nothing tranquil about the hungry eyes peeling her apart from behind goggles, as if whatever she has may be contagious. She wasn’t stupid enough to believe what her father did in that room was legal. She knew his methods were outdated and barbaric and cruel. But he never stopped. He always hoped that this time, this attempt, this method would be the one to solve the mysteries of the brain. She never knew what he would do next. She never knew what torture he would pick next. There were times he would only take her blood, check her temperature and let her return to the security of her room. Other times…other times they would carry her out unconscious, sometimes bleeding, sometimes covered in her own filth. There was nothing worse than not knowing.

From across the room, rusted wheels squealed their protest as something was dragged over to the foot of the table. Water sloshing against its confines filled the air.

“You won’t fuss!” her father warned. “It will only be harder for you if you fight, do you understand? It will not be pleasant if I have to sedate you.”

Nothing you do is pleasant!
She wanted to hiss at him, but wisely kept her mouth shut. Any shows of anger, fear, confusion, distress, or sadness…any emotion at all would only earn her more pain.

At her sides, her fingers danced a tattoo against the table beneath her. Her foot twitched. She willed both to stop, but the longer her father stood there watching her, studying her, examining her every breath, the harder it became to focus on keeping her guard in place. He couldn’t know that she saw them behind him, bobbing and weaving through concentrated shadows. He couldn’t know she was so close, one step to his right and he would walk right into her.

Oh God…oh God…not now, please not now!

Other swirling vapors of smoke coiled from the ground, rising into the darkness. They breathed through the air, twisting amongst the lab coat-wearing group busy at work taking her apart.

“
Amalie! Amalie!”
She felt the cool words slip over her bare skin, raising goose bumps in their wake. A shiver was elicited and ran through her.

Faces peered at her from the dark mist. Blank eyes, cold, empty, yet oddly pleading stabbed through her, hot and fierce, refusing to be ignored. But ignore she had to.

You’re not there! I don’t see you! You’re not there! I don’t see you! You’re not there! You’re not! You’re not! I don’t! I’m not sick!

The willowy figure swaddled in white swayed forward from behind her father’s back. Amalie’s heart forgot a beat. It tripped. Icy fingers fisted around her gut.

I don’t see you! I don’t see you! God, please, I don’t see you!

Her lungs dropped into a vat of acid. Every inhale burned in her chest. Inside, she slammed every protective barrier closed on her mother’s weeping face.

“We’re ready, sir,” said the short, plump man with thinning hair and enormous glasses that sat crooked on his fat nose. He adjusted the thick frames higher over his squinty eyes.