Ruin: The Waking (3 page)

Back at the house, docking the canoe proved to be vexing, what with the whole trying to scope the area without actually appearing to be looking
. It didn’t help that she
had
to fulfill her obsessive canoe tying ritual. Rear had to face north, paddles together, spanning both seats, rope knotted exactly right or there would be no damn sleeping at night. The canoe tying task done, she covertly reapplied her hair clamp, using the opportunity to scope the area. What was wrong with looking? That was a normal thing for a woman to do living alone in a swamp.

Grabbing hold of the pier post, she climbed out
of the canoe and hung the rope, docking her swamp truck, then heading toward the house. Again she found herself trying to act uninterested and unintimidated all at the same time. “Just…casually checking for rogue alligators,” she mumbled, glancing about. “Not half naked men, roaming the swamp. Loaded with tats.” She found herself worried about what she looked like suddenly as she headed inside. Geeze, she really, really, needed to get out more. 

She eyed the closed storm shutters along the house wall facing the swamp. No guilt there. She had warranted reasons. All of them were shut, in fact. Especially the upstairs ones. Pulling her key from
one of the pockets on her outfit, she unlocked the padlock on the front door. She didn’t need a purse with her attire, she had more pockets than her grandmother’s purse. And that was a
lot
of pockets. Isadore went in, slid the deadbolt home, then sagged against the door with a sigh. You’d swear she’d swam sixty miles per hour through quicksand with how tired she was.

The
bruise on the back of her thigh throbbed, reminding her of that which she’d been fighting hard not to remember. It was one of the reasons Tarzan had been so easy to think about. Anything to avoid that fresh nightmare. She was necessarily stupid to contemplate
not
showering. What had she become out there? A dirty white swamp lady?

Putting water on for coffee, she headed to the small bathroom and turned on the shower. She needed to make it quick, the hot water heater was made for one tiny midget person
with very short hair, not a compulsive woman who
had
to wash herself exactly
thus and so.

Stripping out of her baggy blue-jeaned overalls, she
folded them and tossed them into the grass green hamper then yanked open the shower curtain and stepped into the hot water. Shit, the bandage. Whatever. She’d tend it separately, after. The notion to wash her hair hit like a brilliant idea and she hurried without question before the water got cold. She didn’t want to scare potential company away that might happen by her house for
help.

Halfway through rinsing her hair, she was rejuvenated by the hot water she’d plum run out of. She really should break down and buy a bigger hot water heater. She was a cheapskate just like her father, and a procrastinator like her mother.

Grabbing the bar of Ivory soap, she lathered the
green puff-ball as fast as she could and washed her body, face to toes, then back up again and rinsed. By the time she was done, she’d adjusted to the cold temperature and reached that familiar point of
this really isn’t so bad, actually exhilarating, no need to spend money on a hot water heater.

Images of Tarzan’s tattoos returned for the fiftieth time and her brain itched to get a closer look at the odd scrawl. Something was familiar about it.
Just who the
hell
was he though? She kept ruling out
angel
since Jared had seen him. Did angels appear that way? They did in the Bible, Paul said, be sure to entertain stranger, because many had entertained angels unaware. If he never showed up again, she’d be inclined to think she’d hallucinated the entire thing, Jared and all. But if he was real…she’d like to thank him at least. She’d been too freaked out that night to think about it.

The
bruise behind her leg throbbed in answer to the hallucination theory. But… maybe she’d had a nightmare and slept walk out the window?

Geeze. The idea that she’d be crazy enough to do that was a scary notion. Yes, trauma did things to people, but it was hard to accept that for herself, an intelligent scientist with an IQ of 156. 

Shutting the shower off, she jumped at hearing the whistle of the kettle. Wrapping a towel around her, she hurried out to the hot plate and shut it off. “Shit,” she whispered.

“Can you help me?”

Chapter Three

Isadore screamed and spun to see
him
sitting on the loft stairs. “Oh my God, how did you get in here?”

“The…” he seemed to contemplate and struggle for the word
before giving up. “I need your help.” He came toward her and she backed up, hitting the stove. He still wore the black pants and no shirt, which drew her gaze to those tats until she realized it was rude to stare and snapped her gaze up. Thick black brows furrowed in what seemed like… annoyance before he opened a kitchen chair and sat. “You said… you would help.”

“I did?”

He gazed at her, those bright green eyes making her stomach knot. “Yes.”

She shook her head a little. “I don’t…remember saying that.”

“Not with your words.” He pointed to his eyes. “With these... you told me.”

She swallowed hard, worried about the man’s mental state.  “Are you? Are you sick?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where are you from?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know that either.”

She gasped, realizing. “You have amnesia?” That was a stupid question. “Never mind, don’t
answer that.” She pointed at the ceiling. “You mind if I go upstairs and get clothes on?”

He suddenly lowered his gaze. “If you…think you need to.”

His lack of knowing that she should get clothes on was disturbing. That was some serious amnesia if he didn’t remember it was wicked bad manners to stand in front of a stranger in only a towel. “I think I need to, yes. I mean yes, I need to.”

He nodded and she hurried to the loft. Chancing a glance at him on her way up, making sure he stayed put, she found his brutal green gaze riveted on her
. She attempted a relaxed smile that threatened to shake right off her damn lips as she entered her room with a sobered gasp. Her hands trembled as she fought her brain to think.
Clothes!
She suddenly cared about her selection and chose more normal ones. A pair of soft cotton black shorts and a plain white t-shirt. Nothing fancy. She hurried back down, worried he’d disappear again.

Descending the loft stairs, she found him again watching her, maybe worried she’d not come back? At that moment she became aware of her hair
and detoured toward the bathroom. “Excuse me a second.” Once in, she snatched her hair clip from the towel bar then exited with it in her mouth, eyeing him as she twisted up her hair before working the plastic teeth securely onto the wad of hair. “Would you care for some coffee?”

He gave a slow nod, his gaze
still
locked on hers, like he was constantly taking readings on her. She busied herself, grabbing two of her blue willow cups from the
in case you ever have company ha ha
part of the curtained cabinet and set them down. “So,” she said lightly. “I wanted to thank you for the other night.”

“For what?
”

She glanced back at him while rinsing the drip pot. “When you…saved me?”

“Saved you?”

She moved on to ready fresh grinds. W
as he not understanding her words? Had he forgotten? “Remember you came into my room window? There was a man here?”

“Yes. I heard you screaming.”

Relief flooded her as she poured the hot water over the grinds, nodding. “Yes, and you came and helped me.”

“No. Not helped.”

She set the kettle down and turned, leaning against the counter. “Not helped? Then what? What did you call that?”

He held his hands together on the table, looking at them. “I don’t know. But not help.”

Okay, that was just weird. “You mind if I sit?”

Again he stared at her as though he wasn’t sure. “
Should I mind?”

Ooookay. She shook her head. “No, you shouldn’t. It’s
quite normal for me to sit with company at my kitchen table.” The idea that he was lacking in basic intelligence was alarming but thankfully, not in a scary kind of way. Curiosity kind of way. Scientific kind of way.
What a specimen
he would make
kind of way. Unless he turned out to be a psycho. That would suck. “So how can I help you?”

“Teach me.”

“Teach you what?”

“Everything. I don’t…know
words,
I think.”

“How are you talking to me?”

“I learned. A little.”

She’d go with the amnesia probability. Seeing as brutal honesty was his strength, it was the only thing that made sense, somewhat. How else would he not know words? “What is this?” She pointed to the salt and pepper shaker, and he shook his head. “
Salt and pepper shakers.” She picked one up. “I’m shaking it.” She pointed to the white granules. “That’s salt.” She repeated the same with the pepper. “See?”

“I see.” He looked at her, his green eyes erupting in a strange hunger that startled her. “Teach me. Teach me…all.”

“I can’t teach you all, but I’ll do what I can. It will take time. What don’t you know?” He shook his head and she realized it was a dumb question for him if he knew nothing. “Never mind, I’ll assume the worst.” She stood and went from one thing to the next in the kitchen and he followed, thankfully keeping a three foot personal space between them. After naming nearly everything in the kitchen, she paused. “Are you getting this?”

He then repeated back everything she said in perfect detail. Like photographic memory but with hearing.

“Wow,” she whispered.

“Wow?”

“That means I’m… that means you’re wicked smart.”

“
Wicked?”

She nodded rapidly, excitement flooding her as she tapped her temple. “Here, you have… a brain, it tells you things, helps you?”

“I know this part. It gets hot like the sun there. When I learn things, understand. I can feel it happening.”

She gasped. “You can feel it?” Maybe he was having some kind of seizure.
Bloody hell.

“What does that mean?”

“I have no idea. I’m not sure.”

“Can you teach me?
Faster?”

Faster? She suddenly wondered if maybe… She hurried to her bookshelf and grabbed the dictionary and returned with it. Opening it, she laid it before him and tapped the page. “Can you read?”

He looked at the book for a long while and began reading!

“Holy
shit!”
This meant it had to be amnesia. He knew it, just didn’t remember he did.

He paused, looking up. “Is it wrong?”

Astonished, she shook her head. “No, no. You know how to read, that means whatever happened to you didn’t take your ability to read. You have
no
memory of what happened to you?”

He thought a moment. “I remember opening my
eyes? In water. That’s all. Then I found you. And watched you.”

Fe
ar struck her. “Watched me? For how long?”

He shook his head. “Two… times.”

“Two days?”

“I
think, yes.” He went back to the book and she watched him read.

“Are you understanding it?”

“Yes.” He read for several seconds then looked up at her. “Can I have this?”

She smiled. “You can borrow it? That means you use it then give it back when you
’re done.”

He nodded. “Can I sleep here?”

Her stomach jolted in fear and excitement. To have such a specimen so close was like bringing home her flunk-a-monkey science project. Only, her science projects never…looked like that. She thought of the Cajun culture oh so famous for their hospitality and nodded. “Sure, why not? It’s customary to ask your company to sleep.” Dear God that was taking it too far. She hoped he didn’t learn real soon what a crock of shit that was.

He went back to reading and when he turned the page faster than he should have, she gasped and he looked at her. “What?”

“Nothing. Just… go on. Are you hungry?”

“I think I am,” he said, not pausing. “Always.”

She nodded and got up. “I’ll cook for you then.” After getting leftovers out, she regarded him, hunched over the book in the small chair. “Why don’t you go where you’re comfortable?”

“Comfortable?”

She got up and indicated he follow her. She led him upstairs and pointed to the bed. “Lay there.”

He did, his movements oddly graceful, like at one time he’d been a pro at…something
that required intense dexterity. Something physical. Maybe he was a dancer and had an accident. That was possible. And highly unlikely. “I like this.” He moved around a little, experimenting.

She smiled and grinned. “Good. Stay there and read.”

“Read, yes.” He put his nose back in the book.

“I’ll get supper on and bring up your coffee in a minute.” She hurried down when he didn’t answer, amazement flooding her. Wow. Was he a genius? The idea that she might actually have a friend smarter than her made her grin. Just knowing somebody that smart was… just wow. Rare. Even if he was suffering from frequent minor seizures.
Aside from that, it didn’t slip her mind that he was deadly gorgeous and in
her
bed. And a man, technically.

Coffee done, she wondered how he might
take it. Going with a tiny bit of cream and sugar, she brought it up to him and found him staring out the window. “Bringing your coffee. This might help you stay awake while you read, it can get boring. Especially reading a dictionary,” she laughed.

He turned and stared at her until she felt the urge to look away. Why did he have to stare so
hard?
“Here you go,” she handed him the cup. “How far did you get?”

He took the cup. “I’m done with it.”

“You’re done,” she mumbled sipping. “You’ll need to read a lot more than just a few pages to learn. If you want to learn fast, I mean.”

“No,” he said, “I
read all of the pages. Each one.”

The impossibility wiped the smile from her face. “The…”

“Yes, the entire book. And as I read it, I became faster at it. And I understood it as you can see, I’m speaking, using words. Contractions even.”