The Guardian's Wildchild (21 page)

“It’s all I remember doing with any clarity,” she responded.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Sidney turned toward Sam. “I know. I have to be sure before I say anything more.”

“Sure about what?”

“That no one gets hurt if I reveal more.”

Sam busied himself with his computer’s electronic files. “For now, I’ll accept your statement as a partial truth.”

He got up and triggered the video monitor to ascend up. As it disappeared into the ceiling, a painting was revealed on the wall above the side table. It drew Sidney to inspect it more closely.

The closer she got, the more the painting felt familiar. It was of an old porch. Droplets of rain merged into puddles on the weathered boards. She got close enough to see the artist’s signature on the canvas and gasped, bringing her hands to her chest.

Sam stood beside her. “You admire art, Sidney?”

Momentarily stunned, Sidney simply stared at the painting. “Ah, ah, yes,” was all she could say.

“I obtained this quite a while ago, long before my assignment to the
Nonnah
. Have been searching for more ever since. There doesn’t seem to be any on the market. Pity. The artist is extremely talented.”

“Do you know anything about the artist, Captain?”

“No, not a thing. It all seemed so mysterious when I found it. There was no accompanying pamphlet about the artist like one usually gets along with a painting. No one had any information about this ‘Nahonnay.’ Strange name, so close to the name of this ship. Have you seen other paintings by this artist?”

Sidney considered revealing a piece of herself — the piece, fractured and heavy with pain, that clung to her in spite of years of attempting to heal the guilt. The piece that tormented her, reminding her that she was responsible for her mother’s death. Before she knew it, the words were tumbling out of her mouth. “I know this painting’s about nine, ten years old. And I doubt you’ll ever find any others.”

“How do you know all that?”

Sidney straightened her shoulders, lifted her head and swallowed. “My mother painted it.”

Sam exclaimed, “Your mother?”

“Yes. These are the porch steps of our house. It was a very old house. It collapsed about two years ago. We managed to use some of the wood to build another home. Built it mostly of straw bales.”

Sidney continued to talk, gazing at the painting. Her chatter eased the painful hollow place in her chest. “I didn’t pay much attention to her work. She died a year after this one. Didn’t have much time for painting, Mom said, chasing after me all the time.” Sidney felt her chin quiver.

She reached out to gently touch the brush strokes on the canvas. “I was thirteen when she died. She was looking for me when I was supposed to be home. She fell off a cliff in a rainstorm. I saw her fall … heard her scream … saw her fall.”

Sidney jerked her hand back off the canvas. She realized she was shedding all her pain to a man not predisposed to an appreciation for emotions.

She cleared her throat. “Oh, Captain, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go on and on.”

“Sidney, no apology’s necessary. Finally, I know who painted this. The mystery is solved.” He had the faintest glimmer of sympathy on his face.

Both Sidney and Sam realized they had momentarily stepped outside the limits of prisoner and captor. Both fell silent for a moment. The spell was broken by a knock on the door. It was the kitchen staff delivering the food for the officer’s breakfast meeting.

“Is it oh-nine-hundred hours already?” Sam murmured. “Miss, you’ll return to your cell. At ten-hundred hours you’ll be allowed to exercise on the ship’s deck. Bridges and Moore will advise you what’s permitted. Your next interrogation is scheduled at twelve-hundred hours. Any questions?”

“No questions, sir.”

Sam called for Bridges and Moore. They arrived and motioned for her to follow. This time, the handcuffs weren’t used. The pace felt slow. She’d have preferred to run back to her cell. Once she was there, she stepped into the dark room and collapsed on the bed. A sea of tears flooded into her hands.

At 1000 hours, Bridges and Moore opened Sidney’s cell and delivered her to the ship’s main deck. The instant the hallway door opened to the outside, warm, fresh air showered over her. Moore told her she could walk around the deck’s starboard side from mid ship to the stern and that she was to stay fifteen feet away from the ship’s railing. Gone was her rebellious spirit. Her heavy clothes, the hot sun, and low mood pulled her into the shadows of the ship’s deck. She considered how much she should reveal to Sam. She still wasn’t sure how far Sam’s allegiance to the admiral extended.

Her other problem was the hidden memory rod containing the admiral’s file. She was reluctant to telepathically communicate its whereabouts to Danik. And yet, if she did nothing, Badger and his people would have no chance to find out who all the players were, and the admiral would have time to carry out his plans, casting a shadow with the power of his crystals. Once the power nations were aware of the crystals’ power, there would be debates in the United Nations about who should have control of them. Though there might be promises to use the crystals for the benefit of all, the truth of the matter was that no one could be trusted with that kind of power. The debates would quickly escalate into paranoia. Chaos would erupt.

In her mind’s eye, Sidney once again saw the Dark world that Birthstone had shown her so many years ago. It was becoming a reality, after all.

Bridges called to her. It was time to return to her cell. For the duration of the morning, she sat on her bed in the dark void, listening for any sound that might inspire her, any movement that would transport her from her prison. She breathed. Minute by minute, she reached for an understanding.
Was this all a waste?
Then, in a whisper from Seamus, she received her answer.

Her spirit guide was present only as an energy. She felt him and knew exactly where he was, within inches on her left side. His voice was soothing.

“The danger is ever present, Sidney. If you allow the forces of Darkness to cloud your connection with your higher self, all could be lost, including you. You’ll suffer the same fate as Captain Butchart.”

Losing her gifts was minor compared to that. To become entrenched in fear and Darkness was akin to being trapped in a nightmare for eternity. But Seamus never let his messages end on a dark note.

“You were born in the Light,” he told her. “You are of the Light. What’s the purpose of the higher self?”

She thought for a moment as tears rolled down her cheeks. She centered her energy within her heart and showered Seamus with her Light.

“To love,” she answered and felt Seamus smile.

“And that, my dear one, you do so well when you’re not focused on fear. Your incarnate purpose will be revealed to you when you let go of fear.”

With a flourish of dancing colors, he was gone.

At lunchtime, Bridges entered her cell and delivered her back to Sam’s office. Sam had little to say. He directed her to the conference room and informed her the next interrogation session would begin in thirty minutes. When she’d finished her lunch, Sidney knocked on the door to his office and was directed to sit in the chair in front of the desk.

Sam picked up a comlink badge off his desk and handed it to Sidney. “Put this on your jacket. It will transmit anything you say to my computer, which will transcribe your statements.”

Sidney attached the badge and sat back in the chair.

“For the record, this is Monday, July eighth at twelve-thirty-five hours. This is interrogation session number four. Miss, please state your name.”

“Sidney Davenport.”

“Let’s begin. First, please explain how you were able to bypass the security systems. The admiral believes you were assisted by someone on the base.”

“Absolutely not, Captain. On the base, I was on my own. Completely on my own.”

“All right. Now, tell me what your objective was. Your true objective. The truth, miss.”

Sidney’s weakness was lies. To be accused of lying was paramount to a slap in the face for her. She sprang out of her chair.

“Are you accusing me of lying?”

Sam remained calm. “Miss, please sit down.”

Feeling trapped between telling the truth and protecting her mission, Sidney’s rage escalated. Her sacred truths evaporated.

“I’m leaving, Captain. I’m done with this damn charade.”

She headed for the door, and Sam rushed to block her exit. Grabbing her by her arms, he pulled her toward him. Sidney regretted her stubborn decision. With a desk between them, she could manage to deal with her attraction to him, but with him so near, it was a different matter. Her heart raced. She stepped back a half step.

His piercing gaze reflected that he’d lost patience.

“Your defusing of the missiles was a diversion tactic. Those missiles are old and barely compatible with our current defense systems. Not worth the risk. Your real mission was something much more significant. You’re withholding information on that part of your mission — something vital enough to risk your life for.”

Sidney trembled. She knew she had to say something fast — without lying. He’d know if she wasn’t being truthful.

“That’s an interesting theory. If the mission was that important, don’t you think someone more skilled would’ve been assigned? I have no experience in this, this … stuff!”

“Perhaps. But you do know Captain Butchart.”

“I do admit I’ve heard the name Frank Butchart. A friend had mentioned the name, and I remember thinking it was an odd one.”

“Miss, you’ve stated that you know
Frank
Butchart. Not Captain Butchart, but Frank Butchart. That tells me that you’re familiar with the man. Explain how you know him.”

“I don’t know him! I just know of him.”

“You know a hell of a lot more than you’re admitting to. Remember our agreement? I know two facts, miss. One, Captain Butchart was very anxious to speed up your execution for a reason I don’t yet understand. And two, I know you and Captain Butchart are somehow connected. And when I find out why and how, that’s when I’ll know what you were doing on the base. We’ll continue this conversation another time. It’s time you returned to your cell.”

Sidney was brought back to her cell, then for more exercise on the ship’s deck at 1600 hours. She remained morose. Indeed, everything she believed about her true nature was slipping away. Anger was never acceptable in the sacred truths, yet it seemed like she was giving in to it at every turn. It was a matter of time, perhaps days, before she’d slip further into the Dark world of Captain Butchart.

The prison she was building within was more terrifying than the admiral’s punishment. Those who followed the Dark path retained some of their powerful gifts, but they walked alone. There was no sharing of the heart, no offering of compassion, and no companion in the Dark. Eventually, the Dark forces returned to haunt the one who wielded the sword. It wasn’t a form of punishment. It was simply the law: as you give, so shall you receive.

At 1800 hours Bridges brought Sidney to Sam’s office. In the preceding hours she still hadn’t been able to devise a plan to deal with his probing.
Breathe
, she thought.
Just breathe.