Soul and Blade (4 page)

The nurse nods her head, batting her lashes at him. She turns to me, again becoming something frightening. She snaps her fingers and my bed moves, as if by magic. The ceiling lights are gapped between several tiles, telling me we are going a much longer way this time. I count fourteen lights and seven tiles before we stop and turn to the right. The bed scrapes and knocks into a room with only one light, hanging from a cord by a crack in the concrete ceiling. Water drips in the background, and I don’t know what to make of it all.

The room is more cell than room.

I lift my head, in time to see the door close. I’m left staring at a slot-like gap in the middle of the door. Something you could peek through to check on patients or hand meds and food through. It looks like a mail slot.

I am alone long enough to realize what it is.

I’m still inside.

The clover box was a trap. Rory is running the show.

But at least I know that now.

I am stuck inside his mind, with no way out on my own. He somehow hijacked the mind run Angie and I had planned, turning it into one he ran himself.

He is better at this than I am. If a mind run can be compared to playing a video game, then he’s winning.

Feeling a cool breeze tickle across my skin, I shudder under the swinging light. In the stillness of my room I can’t stop hearing its wires creak ever so slightly as it sways in the breeze.

That sound could make me crazy, but the next sound I hear makes me scared.

I would know his footsteps anywhere. He drags his left leg subtly from an injury during his time in G2, Irish intelligence. His ACL went in a hard landing from an airdrop.

When his key turns in the lock, I expect it. The squeal of the door doesn’t shock me. I don’t even flinch when he closes us in here together.

“I will need ya to tell me how it felt to be fucked by me when ya were in the cells with all the girls. I need ya to tell me how much ya liked it.”

That surprises me. I grimace at the disturbing man he really is. A man I never saw inside the colleague I had liked, maybe because I always saw the damage and respected it—as kindred spirits might.

But as his hand lands on my foot and he rubs it, chuckling to himself, I see it. I see what he is.

He laughs like he’s reliving it, squeezing my foot in a rhythmic fashion. “I loved that cave of cells. I even loved those girls. I cared for them. It was my idea to put the medicine in the water bottles and vitamins in the food. I loved those bloody girls.” His voice cracks and I realize his laughing is shredding into tears and the gripping of my skin is out of desperation.

I look at him, hardly recognizing him.

His dark-blue eyes find their way out from under his heavy brow, seeking out my stare. “But you didn’t see it that way, did you?” His grip tightens to the point that I wince and then his nails dig in and I cry out.

I’m softer here. I’m weaker. He’s controlling the script and running the show and I can’t be me, Jane. I can’t be strong and trained and ready to fight him. Somehow he’s changing who I am in the story too. His sick and twisted version of Andrea, my poor dead sister, is weak and pathetic. She needs him. She’s malleable.

But I am me. I will find a way to be Jane.

I struggle against the restraints and bed, but he doesn’t relent.

He doesn’t care that I’m struggling or crying. I don’t even know if he’s consciously in this room or if his mind is somewhere else, imagining we are somewhere else. Someplace where I am enjoying his affections and not writhing and crying.

His hands work their way up my legs. He rubs and massages, getting so deep into the tissue I’m sure I’m bruising. He moves his hand between my thighs, lifting the hospital gown I didn’t even realize I was wearing.

I jerk when his fingers make direct contact with my bare lips. I’m not wearing underwear either. It’s his dream and his fantasy.

Maybe it’s the way he sees my relationship with Dash. He is wearing a
DR. DASH
name tag.

He glides a finger inside me, still staring off to the back of the room, absently thrusting his finger in and out of me.

I look up at the ceiling and scream, “Tell me about the swans, the way the swans circle the stars and shoot across the sky!”

He looks down at his hand and my bared body. “Why can’t I see it? Why can’t I see what it really looks like? Show yerself to me! Let me have ya.”

I don’t know what he means, but I imagine it perfectly: the room with the old French decor and the lady, my grandmother, sitting at the couch.

She holds up a cup of tea, but the distraction of a second finger being inserted inside me blurs the room. He thrusts harder, keeping my attention span.

The swans aren’t working. Dash isn’t working. The clover box isn’t working. But I know there’s one thing that will. One thing Rory can’t change in any world. “Binx, come to Mommy! Come and find me, Binxy bear!” I squeeze my eyes shut and relax into the jerking sensation, leaving it behind. I need it to fade away, but Rory’s doing it to keep me present. He is trying to make me his victim and his prisoner, but I refuse to be either.

The first meow echoes like a miracle. I laugh, both relieved and combative. “You can’t stop him or my love for him.”

My beloved Binx jumps onto my belly, his little cat feet kneading. He comes to my neck, nuzzling himself there. He curls around me. When I open my eyes, I meet his as he purrs and stares at me. His green eyes glow. Tears stream down my cheeks suddenly, unexpectedly. Binx turns and hisses against Rory’s snarl. He spits his disgust, but Rory doesn’t stop thrusting his fingers in and out of me.

“That cat isn’t here, Jane. But I am. I know you feel me.” He sounds angry, maybe because he can’t seem to get the cat out of his scenario.

Binx is my part of this horrid world.

Binx turns back to me, overtaking my gaze with his. It’s mesmerizing.

His eyes swirl, making my lips turn up. Everything fades, except the shoving motion, but I don’t care. I know it isn’t real. Rory isn’t touching me. He’s abusing me in his head; it’s his pleasure and pain and twisted perversion. I am not here.

Binx’s purring gets louder, bringing me back with him, like the rabbit leading Alice. I fall back into the swirling vortex, still jerking from the fingers inside me, making me raw even if it’s not real.

I blink and the room is the one I went to sleep in. The lab where Rory is next to me. I don’t need to look at him to know he’s there with me. There is one face, and only one face I need to see. And he is here. Dash gives me a worried look. “Jane?”

I still jerk like there are fingers moving in and out of me, but I don’t look away from the green-gray eyes bearing down on me.

“Jane?” Dash repeats as he reaches for me.

I clear my throat, recoiling from his touch. I swear I can still hear my cat purring and feel the weight of him on my throat. I close my eyes and focus on that, still moving like the fingers are jabbing me.

I turn my head away from the heat coming off Dash, opening my eyes to Rory lying next to me. His fingers move like he’s inside me.

I wince and realize the doctors and lab techs know what is happening. The movement stops, yet Rory continues jerking as if he is inside me. As if I am still in there with him.

“It never was me,” I whisper and close my eyes again. “He was never touching me.”

In that moment, hands touch me. I flail and curse at them. The people talking, trying to calm me, say they want to help. They say they need to take off the monitors. I don’t believe it. None of this is real.

I am still inside.

I scratch and claw, punching someone in the face and kicking another in the stomach.

In only seconds of fighting, I have my hands around Rory’s neck, choking the life from him. Someone grabs my arms, but I head-butt him or her, and continue squeezing as hard as I can. I hit them and him in the face, each as hard as I can from atop Rory’s chest. When I manage to fight them all off, my hands find their way back to his throat, and within heartbeats, his eyes are bulging from their sockets.

A stabbing pain hits my arm and all my strength fades. The floor doesn’t fall away, even though I prepare for that, because I am still inside. I can’t get out.

“I can’t get out! I can’t get out!” I panic, losing my grip on his neck even though I want to squeeze.

Dash is there suddenly, in my face. He lifts his hands, and the worry in his eyes makes me wonder if he is just trying to take off the monitors. If I’m out of the imaginary world and free of it all, even though I’m still moving like I’m inside.

Even when they shove me in the cell, saying it’s for my own safety until I come down from the run, I know it—I am still inside.

4. I SAY A LITTLE PRAYER

T
he bed smells creepy-familiar enough that even dragging the sheets from it, I have to hold my breath. It’s been four days and I can’t shake the leftovers this time.

I am not inside, and yet I doubt my every move. I doubt everything I see. I doubted when Dash and the team put me in the cell at the end of the run. I screamed and raged and fought, and even when I realized it was all over and I was out of Rory’s head, I still couldn’t feel safe.

Mind runs always come with leftovers, but this time they are affecting me worse than ever. I can still smell the dank air all around me. The dank and dark places where Rory lives.

“It’s the third time you’ve changed them since you got home.” Dash’s tone isn’t purposely mocking, but I feel it sting just the same.

“You could help instead of judge.” I look back with daggers. Dr. Dash, the real Dash, leans against the doorframe with the strangest look on his face. I refuse to let his look soften me. “Or stand there weighing in with your psychological opinions,” I add. Being back in our townhouse hasn’t been easy for either of us.

“Jane, come on. I have been bending over backward here, waiting for you to snap out of it.” He sighs and walks to me, wrapping himself around me. I shudder, instantly too hot, and the smell of the sheets I hold crowds me, so much so I swear I taste whatever that dank scent is. I push him off, clutching the very sheets that are ruining my life.

I turn and storm to the laundry room, stuffing them in the front-load washer, but the machine carries the smell too. I dump bleach in, right on top of the sheets. “Where is Sirius?” I ask, suddenly aware the dog isn’t here. Was there a dog? I swear there was.

“He’s at my mother’s being cared for by the staff. He’s in good hands. I wanted to wait until we were adjusted and everything was normal again. He and Binx didn’t see eye to eye.”

I swallow, not sure if that’s true or not. “Binx and he met?” I wasn’t there, I don’t think.

“They did. I brought him here and their meeting became fur and nails and hissing. Poor Sirius is a baby, so I had my mother come and get him. She said everyone loves him.”

I pause, racking my brain for any of this. “Was I here when this happened?”

“No.” His disapproving sigh behind me is like nails on a chalkboard. “I need you to see a friend of mine, someone not related to the team.”

I look back. “You just want to make them lock me away!”

He cocks an eyebrow, fighting a grin. “You know I don’t. Perhaps I’ll
lock you in our bedroom, and we can do something else with those sheets.”

I slam the washer and put it on whitest whites before stomping to the linen cl
oset. The moment I open it I smell it. The smell has invaded the closet too. “Do you smell that? That dank smell?”

He comes to my side, leaning in, getting too close to me. “No. It smells like those little scent things you make me put in after counting out exactly seven of them for each wash.” His refusal to buy into my concern overwhelms me. I turn to shout, but he grabs my face, planting a firm kiss on my lips. I struggle and shake, but he doesn’t stop.

We kiss until my legs have buckled and I’m on the floor sobbing. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He lifts my chin. “This is what happens after too many runs.” His eyes are filled with concern. “You are bringing things back with you. Things you can’t shake. It’s why I want you to see someone.” He kisses the tip of my nose. I don’t recoil, not because I don’t want to; I do. I force myself to stay and tolerate the affection.

Binx walks up to me, weaving himself around my legs and purring with his pathetic attempt at cat love. He’s not the most snuggly cat, but he knows when I need something. I wrap my arms around him, pick him up, and take a long draw of the smell of his fur. He chases away the dank smell and the dirty feelings. He chases everything away.

There has never been a love like ours—mine. It’s fairly one-sided, but I don’t mind. I know he loves me in his own way. Selfish and difficult, maybe, but I don’t care.

He stiffens, possibly about to attempt his escape, but then goes limp again, resigning himself to the fact I need him. Probably sensing by my behavior and grip that I won’t let him go without a fight.

Dash wraps around me too, bringing the smell of deodorant and sweat and him. I lean into my boys and breathe them both in.

“I hate where he took me.”

“I know. I read the debrief. The president isn’t very happy that you didn’t find anything out. He was hoping you would know if Rory had betrayed the country in any other ways.”

“The president can suck it.”

“That’s treason.”

“Only if he hears me.”

He chuckles. “Our house is likely bugged. Let’s be honest.”

I nod against him, certain it is. “Sorry, Mr. President. But I’m not going back in.” I give him a weak smile. “I’m sorry my cat hates your dog.” I close my eyes and stay here, huddled on the floor and wrapped in love, even if one participant is being forced to endure it.

“Binx and Sirius will learn to like each other. When we move to the big house, they will have a yard to explore together and plenty of room.”

I lift my face. “The big house? Which one of the many you own? Is there one that’s larger than the others? Is it like your parents’ place?” I tense, not even wanting the answers to the questions. “It doesn’t matter, I don’t think I can move. I need to be here where it’s familiar.”

Dash strokes my cheek and kisses my head. “We don’t need to discuss it now.”

I lift my face to Dash. “It’s been too many runs, you were right. I can feel the walls of my sanity crumbling away. And let’s be honest, they weren’t sturdy to start with.” I laugh, but he sees the truth.

“You are perfectly sane, Jane. No one can do that many mind runs. No one.”

“He had all the control, Rory did,” I mutter, contemplating the fact the nanobot installed in Rory’s brain, identical to the one installed in mine, was set to run the hijacked op in his head. “I know I set up a run where I was a doctor and he was my boyfriend and we were in love. I know I set that up. But I was meant to know who I was in his head. I was supposed to know what was happening. No mystery. I just needed to trigger the memory of how he came into the possession of that cabin with those rape cells and then the larger brothel itself. But I wasn’t given that opportunity. I was lost and all of my memories were gone. Even in his forced coma, he is in control.”

“I think we need to disengage his nanite for the next person going in. I don’t actually know how to do it without killing him.” He kisses the side of my face, and I can tell by the way he’s breathing that he’s hoping for more than an awkward floor snuggle.

But I can’t, so I continue on about Rory, a subject that turns us both off. “He’s better at mind running than I am.”

“No. He’s not better. It was his head. Home-court advantage.”

I nod and try to push it all away. “Well, whoever goes in next will have to be prepared for that if you can’t disengage the nanobot.”

“Nanite.”

“Whatever.” Binx struggles from my grip, but after an indignant shake of his fur, he turns and starts to nuzzle me, writhing against me with love and purring.

“He missed you.”

I glance up at Dash, nodding. “I’ve never been in a run for a full week before.”

“I suspect he trapped you inside, using the programming in his nanite to override the information in yours. He let you in, but then somehow he managed to gain control. It wasn’t a mind run, as much as it was a mind hostage situation.”

“That’s about how it felt too.” I can still feel his fingers inside me and his wet kisses and the weird sex in the Thai restaurant.

I officially will never eat Thai again.

“How’s Angie? I never saw her when I woke.”

He looks troubled. “She resigned actually, the day before you woke up. She’s gone home to Scotland. Gave no notice and told the team she was ending it while she was still remotely close to sane. She’ll be taking a long sabbatical before starting up with a position in a clinic just outside Edinburgh. It’s some spot that is doing research on nanite technology in coma patients and unresponsive people—what the research was initially created for before we used it to solve crimes.”

I can’t help but be sad that my friend left without a good-bye, but I understand. I imagine her dating life with Rory gave her a thousand memories like the one I experienced—being violated in a restaurant or tied up for Rory’s pleasure. “I’ll miss her.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “She’ll be at your fitting in two weeks.”

It’s my turn to look confused. “Fitting?”

Dash leans back, examining me for something. “You’re joking, right?”

I laugh and lower my face, completely baffled about what a fitting is. “Yeah.”

“After the week we’ve had, that’s not even funny.” He gets up and hands me my cell phone. “I’ve taken the liberty of updating your schedule with all the wedding information. The dressmaker needs eight months from the time you try the dress on to the time it’s ready. And you can’t gain or lose any weight.”

The wedding dress
. No wonder he’s feisty. I never remember the crap that goes into planning a wedding, and for some cracked-out reason he takes it personally. “I haven’t gained weight in ages.”

He cracks a grin and I see the force behind it. He’s being pleasant.

We’re being weird.

The silence that was once calm and relaxing turns awkward.

There are too many things fitting in the silence now. Too many lies. So many I don’t know if we will ever work them all out. I know he told all of them to protect me, but it doesn’t change the fact he lied.

Underneath his cool doctor exterior, he’s actually quite rich and very British, contrary to the lack of accent, unless he’s angry, of course. He’s completely snobbish when he’s being honest, and his parents are insane and pretentious. Of course the one tidbit of it all that makes me really cringe is his brother, Henry. The man who is currently in jail awaiting trial for crimes against humanity in the International Criminal Court. Along with many other prominent political figures. His time spent at Rory’s brothel has earned him a special place in history, shaming his family and friends.

God, I hate Rory.

All I want is to call Antoine and tell him how bad it all was—is. To call the last member of my team. What we had before Rory went rogue was amazing. Antoine was the brains and me and Rory the brawn. He and Angie are the only ones who really understand the weight of all this betrayal, and there is no way I would ever talk to Angie about it.

Instead of that, I settle for some loving and lift Binx into my arms, forcing another struggle snuggle—the one he hates, where I pretend to kiss him, but am driving my nose into his fur, sniffing him. He lies in my arms, his body stretched further than a cat should stretch as I carry him to the bed. Without any sheets I wrap myself around him and sit, hugging and sniffing.

“We have chicken Parm from Mrs. Starling. She wanted to make sure she made you dinner for your first night back, but I told her to wait a few days. I tried to explain, but—”

But
.

It is an epic
but
that contains images and horrors flashing behind my eyes.

Images of me getting off the table and then screaming and fighting the team who are clearing me of the monitors.

Images of me shoving everyone away while trying to strangle an unconscious Rory as his finger still gyrates inside what he believes is me.

Images of me throwing everything and being forced into a cell for my own safety and the safety of others.

Images of Dash’s eyes through the window as he watches me sitting in the corner rocking back and forth with slight twitches from the drugs I never even took.

Images like the one of Dash finally risking coming into the cell and wrapping himself around me while I sob and cling to him, weak and exhausted. I didn’t believe it was him or that I was really out.

It’s a big
but
, a huge
but
. One we won’t ever discuss again. I whisper silent prayers to that effect to the gods I don’t completely believe in.

“I love chicken Parm.”

He smiles and it’s real, thank God it’s real.

“We’re okay, right?”

“Always, Jane. No matter what.” He nods.

I don’t know if it’s true or not. I don’t know how I feel about anything or what will happen, but I know as long as he still loves me, I don’t care. He has always been the right kind of dark for me.

There is a place inside me that is damaged from everything. A life without family or memories of love. Years of being a soldier and seeing too much and feeling too little. Years as a mind runner who feels my emotions plus the victim’s, and stumbles blindly in the brains of others. Years of PTSD that I don’t even want to scratch the surface of. But he matches the damage. I can’t figure out how—he’s so perfect—but he does. He somehow matches me and I him, and we round all the bad things off.

There is a reason Dash is the way he is, a reason he fucks and doesn’t make love. A reason he doesn’t talk about things.