Archetype (7 page)

“Didn’t I?” Warning laces Declan’s tone.

Danger, danger,
She says.

No kidding.
I have no idea what this is about, but I do not want to be here anymore.

I touch Declan’s arm with only my fingertips, afraid anything more would turn the anger on me. “I wish to go to my room.”

His gaze never leaves Charles’s. “Good idea. I will see you there shortly.”

R
uby sits in the lounge staring out the window for the third day in a row. Her husband has not been back and I am sad for her. Declan is gone more now, but he was around when I needed him most. I need no further proof to see the difference between what kind of man her husband is and what kind mine is.

I am hesitant but resolved to get to know her. “Hello,” I say.

She blinks one time, but there is no sign that she knows I am even here.

“My name is Emma. Your name is Ruby.”

She swallows and blinks again. Her eyes are lovely: light brown with flecks of gold and green. Her light pink lips part to say one word. “Ruby.”

I smile. “Yes, that is right. Ruby is a pretty name.”

“Pretty.”

Dr. Travista appears in the doorway and comes to a stop. His eyes widen when he sees me, and I am about to stand because he must not want me talking to this woman. Instead, he nods to show me he approves.

“You are named for a gemstone,” I say. “One of my favorites. The color is red. Would you like to see red?”

I do not wait for the answer she will not give me. I move to my painting supplies and drag what I need over. I have been painting winter landscapes to please Declan. I have painted enough beaches, though I am saddened by this decision for reasons I cannot explain.

Today, for Ruby, I paint a red desert. I bring it to life from memory. Not because I recall being in a desert, but because I have seen the landmark in a book. Ayers Rock in Australia. I find it easy to give this place life, but as with the winter landscapes, I do not feel as though I belong there.

I belong on the beach with sand between my toes and cool surf flooding my feet. I can almost feel the water receding and claiming the sand below me.

 • • • 

The packed sand slid away from either side of my feet and I stood as long as I dared, testing the strength of my dissolving foundation. I lasted a long time.

I closed my eyes and lost myself in the peaceful surroundings—the warm surf over my feet, a gentle breeze lifting my hair, the caw of seagulls. Crashing waves.

Arms surrounded my waist and a bristly chin nuzzled my neck.

I linked the fingers of my left hand with his right. On the webbing between my thumb and index finger, a tiny brand marred my skin—linked hearts. The luckenbooth on my left hand matched the one on his right hand.

His thumb played with mine, his skin a shade lighter, as he planted soft kisses on my neck.

I pressed my back into him as his arms tightened. He smelled of soap and a gentle musk. He smelled of home. He smelled of mine.

“How much longer do you plan to stand out here?” he asked in a near whisper.

He wanted me to come inside so we could make love. He wasn’t fooling anyone.

I bit my lip as I smiled and continued watching the surf. “I was thinking a few more days at least.”

He chuckled, and it came from somewhere deep, making me tingle in places only he could connect with. “You’re cruel.”

“You love me, Mr. Tucker.”

“With every part of my soul, Ms. Wade,” he agreed.

 • • • 

I begin to turn toward the man in this waking dream, my heart warm and pounding, and find myself sliding out of my chair. The shock of reality, the sterile recycled air and scent of acrylic paint, turns my blood cold. I am back in the lounge, and Ruby watches me paint, but I have not set brush to canvas in some time. The painting sits half-finished, and I no longer have the desire to give it life.

Life is on a beach.

As another woman.

With another man.

Who is not my husband.

 • • • 

I sit alone at a table in the lounge. Dr. Travista gave me a tablet and unlocked only one file out of what could be hundreds. I understand why now. I am frustrated and angry and no longer focused on each individual picture. I swipe my finger over each one, skipping to the next, waiting for one to offer some shred of recognition.

I do not remember my wedding.

Our wedding took place on a mountain, just as Declan said. My dress is not as lovely as he claimed: long, lacy sleeves and a heart-shaped front, full skirt made of silk. I do not think this is my taste. No, I do not
feel
this is my taste.

Our honeymoon pictures are just as infuriating. A villa in Tuscany. I have been to Italy?

Not unless you suddenly lost your fear of flying,
She says.

Just the idea of flying in a plane sends cold shivers of fear over my spine, and beads of sweat break out across my hairline. Flying is not natural. My feet belong on the ground. No question.

But I look happy,
I think.

That you do,
She agrees.

Maybe I took a sedative to get to Italy. It is possible I was knocked out the entire trip.

Anything’s possible,
She says dryly.
Obviously.

We could have taken a teleporter.
Though the idea of this, too, does not sound much better. Splitting into millions of pieces cannot possibly be safe.

There’s human advancement, and then there’s science fiction. You’re grasping.

She does not continue and I am glad. She is making my mood worse.

I cannot blame it all on Her, or even the pictures I do not recognize. Since the last waking memory of the man on the beach, I feel frustrated. Even if I had seen his face, because I called him Mr. Tucker, I know for certain he was not Declan. He was not my husband.

To recall the love I felt for this man makes me heavy with guilt because what I feel for Declan is merely a glimmer of that.

And then there are the brands on our hands. A brand I do not even have, a name that is not mine, so this cannot be me, but . . .

It does not matter. They are only dreams of someone else’s life. Vivid dreams, but dreams nonetheless.

I turn off the tablet and slide it away. Near me, in a chair facing the outside, Ruby slides fingers over the skin of her cheek, then looks at them, then returns them. She does this several times.

“Skin,” I tell her and she looks at me with a thin line between her eyes. I touch my cheek. “See? I have the same thing. Would you like to feel?”

She does not answer, but I move close to her and she reaches out. Her fingers are very soft, far softer than mine. Soft like finely ground powder is soft.

I let her touch me like this for a long time. Soon she moves on to analyze our hands and fingers. I remember discovering these parts for myself. It was hard to grasp how they were meant to do so many other things. Now I paint and write and touch.

“Skin,” she whispers.

“Yes,” I say.

“Emma.” The male voice startles me and I turn toward it. Dr. Travista waves me over, then jerks his head toward the hallway.

I follow him out and find Ruby’s husband, Chuck, ambling our way. He narrows his eyes when he sees me in the angry way I am growing accustomed to. I do not understand the reason for this emotion, but he is beginning to scare me. I hope to never find myself alone with this man. So far, I have been very lucky to avoid this.

I avert my eyes and whisper, “Why does he hate me?”

Dr. Travista takes me gently by the elbow. “He doesn’t understand why you are well and his wife isn’t.”

“But she will be, will she not?”

“Yes, of course, but it takes a lot of time and patience. And she doesn’t respond to him the way she responds to you. He doesn’t like that, either.”

“He is not kind to her.”

Dr. Travista’s lips form thin lines. “No. He isn’t.”

I am not surprised he agrees with me after seeing how he enters Jodi’s room on a daily basis calling her “dear.” He must still love her if he continues to care for her after all this time.

“How is Ruby progressing?” I ask.

He smiles down at me. “Slowly, but I’m not concerned.”

“Are her nightmares bad?”

He seems taken aback by this question. “I almost forgot about that. She doesn’t have nightmares the way you did.”

Now I am the one surprised and stop walking. “Really?”

He laughs at my response. “Really.”

I drop my gaze, dejected. “That does not seem fair.”

Dr. Travista wraps an arm around my shoulders and brings us back into a stroll. “You are well now; that’s all that matters. Speaking of which, how would you like to go home?”

I stop again. “If you are teasing me, this is a cruel trick.”

“Oh, I’m not teasing. Probationary, of course. You’ll spend your nights at home and return during the day for observation. I’m sure Ruby will appreciate your company as well.”

I am so excited that I hug Dr. Travista. It is uncomfortable for both of us, but I am unable to stop it from happening. I would hug anyone who happens to walk by.

“Starting tonight,” he says when I release him. “Declan will be by to pick you up shortly.”

Warm tears brim my eyes. “I feel this is a dream.”

“Not a dream. This is very much reality, my dear Emma.”

I hug him again. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He pushes me away. “Don’t thank me just yet. As I said, this is probationary. The second I think you’re regressing, you’ll be back.”

“I will not regress,” I say, and I hope this is true.

“Let’s hope not. I’ll see you in the morning first thing.” He raises both bushy eyebrows to be sure I understand.

“Yes. Your office, first thing.” I bite my lip and attempt to bury the overlarge smile longing to beam and take out the entire floor. “The very second I arrive.”

 • • • 

The ground rumbled under my feet and I braced my back to the wall. I couldn’t make them out, but the single-man aircraft sounded in the night sky, dropping missiles over the outskirts of the compound. The deadly projectiles carefully avoided the compound itself. And us. Fire lifted into the sky and licked at a dark cloud obscuring what remained of the stars.

“They made it,” Foster said.

I nodded. “Better late than never.”

Foster waved an arm in the air. “Let’s go!”

I closed my eyes for a moment and prayed. Each time I did this, the risk of never making it home hit me too late to turn back. It was always harder when I left him behind. But I left him with memories of a warm bed and a soft touch. It was always like this when the other had to go out. We made love as if it would be the last time. The unspoken rule.

Foster tapped my arm and I opened my eyes.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yeah, let’s do this already. The sooner we’re done, the sooner I can get home.”

M
y nerves are on high alert while Declan walks me toward the transporter room I only recently discovered—this is what Declan has just recently called it. I grip his hand so tight he must suffer from a loss of feeling, but he does not seem to mind. In fact, I think his hand grips mine tighter than usual as well.

The doors to the transporter room slide open soundlessly and a man in white exiting the room steps out of our way. His head bows once to us. “Mr. Burke.”

He does not greet me, but nobody ever does. I am used to this.

Declan leads us to the left and swings open a door in the tube.

“Is it safe?” I ask and swallow hard against a dry throat.

He laughs. “Yes. Very.”

Declan nudges me inside and the floor gives slightly under me. With the addition of his weight, it bounces more, turning my stomach. A set of projected numbers appears on the surface of the clear tube in red and I now know why the floor moves. It measures our weight. Total mass, water, body fat, and even our clothes are calculated.

“You’re going to smell something funny,” Declan whispers. “It’s only a numbing agent. Without it, this would hurt like hell.”

I want to whimper and beg to get off. I think I would rather fly in a plane. “What if it doesn’t work?”

He squeezes my hand. “It will.”

A projected numeric pad appears beside our calculations and he says, “This is where you enter the port number.”

Unclench,
She says.
I promise you won’t feel a thing.

Says the imaginary person in my head.

She laughs.

Then I smell it. The spearmint is aromatic at first, but I quickly realize it covers something rancid that upsets my stomach. In a millisecond, I am completely numb. Like I am only a set of floating eyes.

I try to speak but cannot feel my mouth or tongue, or even my lungs to breathe. Panic sets in instantly, but the outside world shivers and appears to melt, then blends into different colors. Fluorescent lights become a natural, brilliant white light. The view slows and solidifies. The blinding white is sun reflecting off snow, and it is
everywhere.

Startled, I step back so quickly I hit my head against the clear tube. My feeling is back and a tiny headache spreads from the back of my head toward my eyes. Declan holds me in the space of a heartbeat.

“Are you all right? I know it’s strange, but—”

“The snow,” I gasp out. “You didn’t tell me about the snow.”

“It’s outside.” He sounds confused.

I peer around him and relief fills me. We are indoors, but the outside walls are giant windows. The walls—what there are of them—are pale wood slats with black knots. A kitchen is equipped with only a single counter. A thin breakfast bar stands between that and a sunken living room. Toward the back, a bed is visible through an open door.

Declan slides the tube open and helps me out. My jaw aches from clenching my teeth, and I try to relax. It is only snow. It is only my home. Right? I wanted to be here more than anything.

“This is it,” he says and walks down two steps into the living room. His heels make sharp raps against the wood floor, which has shades of brown that vary from pale to dark in random placements. He looks right at home in his cream-and-burgundy sweater and pressed jeans.

He spins and smiles up at me. “What do you think?”

I bite my lip and look around more closely. Now that I’m near the living area, I notice the grayish redbrick fireplace in the corner and the large fur rug lying in front. I hope it is a fake. There is so much wood in the place that it smells of the outdoors, like cedar maybe. Cedar and burning wood. The furniture is pale wood like the walls, with dark brown square cushions.

Declan lifts the lid of a chest and pulls out a throw blanket. He lays the folded fleece in a large chair near the fire and points toward the bedroom. “You can change out of those scrubs if you want and I’ll start a fire.”

What I want is to fold into a ball and lie on the floor with my eyes shut tight. There is so much snow and it is cold and I am really alone with my husband for the first time. I do not know who I am in this mountain home with this man who claims to love me.

My fear must show on my face because he jumps the stairs and pulls me into his arms. “We’ll take it slow, Emma, I promise. Just breathe.”

The burn of my oxygen-free lungs surprises me and I gulp air. “I am sorry,” I whisper. “I think I need a minute.”

He smiles gently down at me and brushes my hair back. “I know just what you need.”

He leads me into the bedroom and through an archway into a bathroom. The room is huge, and like the rest of the house, one side of the room is a window to the outdoors. In a corner across from the window, Declan spins the tap over a large tub.

“A bath?” I ask.

He lifts a small blue box. “With lavender and chamomile to help you relax. You can turn on the jets and soak.”

He arranges the bath as if he has done this for me a million times. He lights candles and pours the bath salt into the water. My fingers itch to do something other than watch, but I do not know what else I can do.

Once he has everything set up, he lays out a thick white towel and a red robe.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says and kisses my forehead. “Take your time.”

He kisses me again, this time on the lips, and I want to bask in the seawater of his eyes. I am lucky, I realize, and do not deserve him.

“I love you,” I tell him.

This brings a smile to his face that lights his eyes. “And I love you.” He glances over his shoulder at the running bath. “Go on. Get in. Call if you need anything.”

Left to my own devices, I slide into the bath before it is ready, but it is enough to make me sigh. The water is soft against my skin and the smell is amazing. And the heat . . . I want to live in the heat of this bath. Once I shut the water off, I let my eyes slide closed and drift into semiconsciousness.

 • • • 

Every few seconds, a single drop of water
ping
ed against the bath-water and small ripples traveled to the end where I lay against his hot chest. The hot water turned the room into a sauna, and beads of sweat tickled my brow.

The sun’s reflection off the ocean shimmered on the slatted blinds above the tub. The color shifted from a soft yellow to burnt orange as the day turned late. With each passing day, I grew to regret the sunset no matter how progressively beautiful the atmospheric effects became. They signaled another day gone, and I didn’t want to leave.

I shifted, lifting an elbow up out of the water to rest on the cool porcelain. “Let’s stay,” I said, my voice a bomb in the quiet space.

He nuzzled his abrasive chin into my neck. “Say the word. We never have to go back.”

I reached back and ran a hand over the side of his head, fingering his sideburns. Across the tub, I watched the next drop of water build in the faucet. “In another lifetime, I wouldn’t give it a second thought.”

A kiss whispered over my ear. “I know. I promise we’ll come back to stay. In our lifetime.”

“And not when we’re old and wrinkled.”

His chuckle was nearly silent. “No, of course not. In a few years when we’re ready to start a family.”

“If I’m still fertile th—”

“You will be.” His hands found mine under the water, and the dying suds lapped up against my breasts. He linked our fingers and wrapped our arms around my abdomen, holding me tighter. “We’ll be responsible for populating the world with so many Tuckers, the world won’t know what to do with them.”

I laughed. “Especially if they’re anything like you.”

“The men in this world won’t stand a chance with one of our daughters in the room. Not if they look like you.”

“Badass?”

He chuckled. “I was going to say beautiful, but that works, too.”