Willow continued to list through the criteria of various psychological disorders according to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. It had taken so many years to learn and now it was strangely comforting to recite in a logical and precise manner. She skipped over claustrophobia and panic attacks. No need to freak herself out completely.
By the time Willow thought it was her second evening in the cube, she was dizzy from hunger and thirst. She lay on the ground on her side, and tapped the floor absently with her fingers. It hurt to swallow, and despite her attempts not to think about eating, she obsessed about memories of food. Her brain fixated on her favorite Thai curry. Memories of its taste and the heat of the spices made her salivate, but it only provided a brief relief. Much later, she dozed in and out of sleep. Memories of her childhood, of people she had known, of her patients, flitted through her consciousness.
Memories of Lucas. Lucas carrying her from the hospital. Lucas’ hard body and strong arms. Lucas kissing her in the research lab. Lucas baring his soul as he shared his past. When she next woke, her brain refused to recite her diagnostic criteria, the details just out of her reach in her fog-affected mind. She dragged herself to stand and only managed a few gentle stretches before collapsing to the floor. The silence was oppressive and the walls closed in around her. Threatened to suffocate her. She struggled to hold onto her precious control.
Songs. She could sing songs. Or at least hum them. She methodically went through her favorite playlist, singing or humming, and felt marginally better. Her favorite song was by David Bowie. In a quiet voice and then louder she sang ‘Ground Control to Major Tom’. The irony of the lyrics threatened to push her into hysteria. She sang them over and over again and wondered if she had finally lost her sanity.
On what she hoped was the second day, her body was weak, her arms and legs heavy and uncooperative. She lay on her side, the hard floor biting into her bones. Her eyes followed a speck of dust that tumbled and spun as her breath caught it. A minuscule bit of nothingness, just like her. Fragments of memories circled in her mind; starting school, her favorite pair of jeans, the boy who’d bullied her at school, graduating university. And then her mind locked onto her first push bike; a beat-up, old, pink one from a family down the street. How she had loved ‘pinkie’, not caring about the rust and peeling paint. Pinkie had been her means of escape from the rage of her stepfather and the endless heartache of a junkie mother. As much as she tried to resist, her mind fixated on the image of herself arriving home from school to find pinkie smashed beyond repair, the pedals bent, and the tires crushed. Stan, her stepfather, had reversed over it with his truck—supposedly an accident, but she’d been certain she had left it in the garage as usual. Stan ridiculed her tears, and the crushing sadness of a childhood loss was overtaken by rage. She went at him like she was driven by the devil, her arms and legs flaying as she tried to hit and kick him. The pent-up misery of her little life overflowing unchecked.
She smiled weakly as she remembered his surprise as the ‘good twin’ had unleashed her fury on him. But the victory had been brief. He’d beaten her black and blue. Lying in the cube with her emotional control in tatters, the memories left her feeling brutally exposed. Slowly, she sat up, the effort so painful it distracted her from the rawness of her emotional wounds. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rocked herself, gently at first, but then more strongly. The rhythm giving her only brief comfort before she fell back against the wall, exhausted and defenseless. The last of her emotional walls crashed down and she cried. Cried at the helplessness that tormented her now and the helplessness she’d experienced as a child. Despite her loud sobs, no tears fell. She knew she was dehydrated, but it also felt like her body was so drained of emotion that she had no tears to give. Could she take another twenty-four hours without food or water?
Her thoughts, scattered and full of disturbing images, kept returning to her childhood. As though caught on an endless loop, she replayed her last day with Eve. They had been twelve years old and were braiding each other’s hair when a knock sounded at the door. Their stepfather was at work and their mother was in an alcoholic stupor in front of the television as per her typical afternoon routine. Willow rushed to the door hoping to get there before her mother attempted to answer it. It wasn’t their neighbor to complain about the state of their yard or one of the many debt collectors. This time it was a woman who identified herself as a social worker, and with her stood two police officers. Fear thundered inside Willow as she looked at them standing in her doorway. A tiny spark of hope was there too. She knew instinctively they were there because of what she had said yesterday at school. About what was happening to her sister. The late night visits by their stepfather to Eve’s room, the interrupted showers and the revolting affection. At twelve years of age, she knew enough to realize he was doing things he shouldn’t. Terrible things. Once she had pleaded with her mother to make him stop, but she had viciously slapped Willow for lying. Her mother’s beatings were only minor, like butterfly wings compared to Stan’s beatings. But it was Eve who had borne the brunt of his rage, of his violation.
The officers had interviewed Willow and Eve separately in the kitchen. Willow still remembered her embarrassment as the case worker had glanced around their shabby home. Her mother had yelled obscenities as she and Eve were taken away in a police car. They had waited for hours at the police station, huddled together in a waiting area before they were then separated and interviewed in different rooms. In a child’s mind the interview had taken forever, but Willow guessed now it had only been an hour. An hour to spill all the dirty family secrets. An hour of abject shame. She remembered how she had also tried to defend her mother’s actions—she was ill, needed help. Willow moaned as she replayed what happened next.
A commotion sounded from the waiting area in the station. When there were shouts and then screams, her interviewer got up to investigate, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Willow crept to the door and spied out into the open area.
Eve was surrounded by social workers and police, and yelled as only a child could, high-pitched and angry. The grown-ups yelled back at her. And yelled at each other.
Angry tears streamed down Eve’s face as she resisted a police officer trying to calm her by yelling at her. As though she sensed Willow watching, Eve quietened and turned to look at her.
The adults surrounding Eve immediately stopped talking.
With desperate eyes, Eve mouthed to her “They’re going to separate us.” Misery etched her face.
Willow noticed a few police officers visibly stagger. Their expressions distraught and wretched looking, just like her twin. As though, Eve’s emotions were infecting those who surrounded her.
One female officer, a pretty woman in her late twenties with her hair neatly set in a bun, slowly reached down to the holster of her gun. She flicked off the cover and grasped the handle of her weapon for a few moments. Willow still remembered the police officer’s face, her look of misery and fear. When others in the room saw her draw her weapon, they shouted for her to stop. A male officer yelled at her to holster her weapon, while another officer started crying.
All the while Eve stood in the middle. A little girl lost in a crowd of angry and emotional adults.
The sound of the gun made Willow jump.
As did the vision of the female officer’s blood as it spilled from the self-inflicted gunshot wound. Chaos unfolded. During the panic, a gray-haired male police officer noticed Willow standing in the doorway, her eyes transfixed on the terrible scene before her. He tried to comfort her but his touch caused Willow to recoil in horror; the emotional charge from him overwhelming her little body. He led her back into the interview room and told her to wait.
A sterile room like this fucking cube.
Willow screamed. Angry and then quiet sobs spilled from her as she lay on the cube’s cold floor. She thought back to her twelve-year-old self, and the fear and pain she had experienced. Eve’s
wild emotion had spiraled from overhearing in the police station that no foster homes were available to take two children that night. Willow now understood that had been the traumatic trigger for their ability, with devastating consequences for the female police officer. After the shooting, the two girls had clung to each other again for hours in a tiny room waiting for child services. Crying in fear from the trauma of the last few hours and the unknown that awaited them. She remembered how they had to be forcibly separated when it came time to leave the police station. The adults had promised it would only be for one night—that tomorrow they would be found a home together.
She never saw Eve again.
24
Lucas
Lucas stood in front of Willow’s cube, wanting to break down the door and carry her back to their apartment King Kong style. His protective instincts had been in overdrive since he’d heard her muffled shouts and bangs on the door. He had to see her, had to touch her. The wait for the one permitted visit was over. Another second with her locked alone in the cube would surely kill him. Mentally, he prepared himself for how he might find her. He swiped the bio-lock and the door slid open.
She lay curled in a corner. He ducked to enter the room and remained stooped as he scrambled to her. Thankfully, because of her height, the cube wasn’t as small as some of the other female ones, but it was still a tight squeeze for two adults. He felt sick to his stomach as he crouched down beside her. She had called the process barbaric and as he looked at her pale weakened state, he couldn’t agree more. He desperately wanted to gather her up in his arms, but he knew he might scare her senseless.
He reached out to gently touch her arm. “Willow?” When she didn’t stir, he called out her name again. “Willow?” he said more loudly, gathering her into his arms.
She groaned softly. Her eyelids flickered but she didn’t open her eyes.
“Willow?” he urged.
“Leave me alone,” she said, her voice cracking.
“Willow. It’s me, Lucas. We only have a short time.”
“Lucas?”
His heart raced wildly at the hope in her voice.
“Yes, it’s me. Can you open your eyes?” He gently brushed her hair back from her face.
Her eyes blinked rapidly and she slowly rubbed her hands over her face.
“Let me help you sit up. Here, take my hand.” Her hand was cold as he helped her sit up against the wall.
“Hey,” she said softly. Sounding more like herself.
“Hey, yourself,” he replied, almost smiling. He didn’t want to examine the surge of relief he felt as she became more alert.
“Is it over?”
“No. You have just under twenty-four hours to go.”
“Oh God.” Willow closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall. “How are the others? Are they doing okay?”
“Tyler and Paige have finished their time. They’re okay. They’re heading back to their quarters.”
“What about Gabriel and Isobel?”
“They’re doing fine. Just like you.”
“I don’t feel fine. My throat hurts so much.” She leaned forward a little. “Is there any way you can give me some water? Please, Lucas. Just a little bit?”
Steeling himself, he shook his head. “As much as I want to, I can’t.” He moved to sit beside her, his back against the wall, their arms and thighs touching.
“Can’t or won’t?”
That hurt. But as her mentor he had to help her last until tomorrow. He knew she wouldn’t want to give up. “I’m here to help you achieve your ascendancy.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She closed her eyes, her body slackening and then slumping toward the floor.
“Willow!” He scrambled around until he was on his knees facing her. Carefully, he helped her to sit up again. When he called out to her again, she refused to open her eyes. He knew her body lured her into unconscious and that she would welcome the oblivion it could provide. “Willow, don’t give in. You can do this.” His chest hurt, the pain in his heart increasing every moment he spent with her in this condition. “Willow.” He shook her shoulders as gently as he could.
She didn’t respond, not even to whimper.
In desperation, he grasped both of her hands in his. He took a deep breath and let his emotional shield drop. Her eyes snapped open. He watched as she processed the emotions swirling within him. He didn’t like feeling exposed, but she held onto him like she was lost at sea and he was her life raft.
“You care for me,” she said, her blue eyes searching his.
The accusation hung in the air for a moment before he replied. “Yes.”
“Then help me get out of here.” She squeezed his hands, her expression desperate.
He took a shaky breath. “Willow, you were given a choice before you started this and you wanted to do it. You were eager to do it.”
“Yes, yes. I want to be stronger, more powerful. But not like this.”
He rubbed his thumb across her palm. “You need to open yourself up to the ascendancy. Give yourself over to the void of darkness just beyond your reach.”
“You just woke me up,” she said with indignation.
“I don’t mean physically. You must allow yourself to shed the emotional defenses you have carried with you for all your adult years.” She looked at him helplessly as he placed his hands around her shoulders. “Willow, you can do this, I know you can.”
“No.” She closed her eyes again and slowly shook her head back and forth. “I can’t, it’s too hard.”
When she slipped again toward unconsciousness, he called out in a firm tone, “Willow, feel me.” Projecting pure confidence, he hoped it would encircle her and hold her up with hope. Instead, a wave of helplessness crashed over him. His shield came up instinctively and she whimpered at the loss of contact.
She was giving up and it rocked him to the core. “Willow!” He shook her shoulders.
“Leave me alone, I just want to sleep,” she said, her voice slurring.
“Think of Eve,” he said, hoping to get her attention. “You’re doing this for her.”
Her face scrunched up. “I have been thinking of Eve. It’s all I’ve been thinking about. Round and round in my head.” Her bottom lip trembled. “I’m never going to find her.”
“Yes you will. Don’t give up hope.” He cradled her cheek with his hand, his thumb stroking her pale skin.
Blue eyes flashed open and she jerked away. “You said you’d help me.”
The bitter edge to her voice was like a punch in the guts. “I am helping you,” he said softly.
“No, all you care about is your precious Order. Your precious rules.”
He knew it was the effects of the cube making her talk this way, but it still hurt. A few weeks ago, even a few days ago, her accusation would have been true and he wouldn’t have cared. But now, he found himself wanting to prove her wrong. “That’s not true, Willow. Once you’ve completed your initiation, I’ll do everything I can to help you find Eve.”
Willow stared at him for a long moment and then closed her eyes. “It doesn’t matter, she’s probably dead.” Tears welled at the corner of her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. “Just go. Leave me here.”
Panic filled him, unfamiliar and alarming. “Please, Willow, don’t give up, you need to ascend to your full ability to pass the ritual.” He didn’t want to think about the consequences of her not passing, of how the factions with the Council warred with each other on what to do with failed neophytes.
“I don’t care.” She leaned her head against the wall.
He shook her shoulder, trying to get her to open her eyes. When they opened, gone was their usual fiery light and in its place only misery. He swore under his breath, and his brain scrambled for a way to reach her. An image of Danny flashed in his mind. He hated talking about him. He’d already told her more than he’d told anyone else. He swore again.
“There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of my baby brothe
r,” he said, his voice so soft he could almost pretend he didn't say it. But Willow’s expression changed, her eyes focusing on him, her expression more alert. He let out a shaky breath. “Some days it’s all I think about.”
She reached out and grabbed his hands. Her look of compassion, her offer of comfort, even when she was at her worst, stole the air from his lungs.
He cleared his throat of emotion. “Noctem took my brother away from me. I will never see him again. Never have the chance to talk to him, touch him.” He squeezed her hands. “You have that chance with Eve. Don’t throw it away.”
Willow’s face crumbled. “She’s dead, Lucas. I would have found her by now.”
“You don’t really believe that.”
“It’s what Serena told me.” Willow pulled her hands away and wrapped her arms around herself.
“What?” he asked sharply. “What did she say?”
“She said that the research team thought that she was probably dead.” Willow began to rock back and forth. “I didn’t believe her when she told me, but now I do…now I do…” Willow’s voice trailed into choked sobs.
Anger filled him, threatening to rip apart his control. How dare Serena mess with Willow before her initiation? Pain filled him too. Pain for Willow and how the years of searching for Eve must have taken such courage and strength. He leaned forward. “There’s still a chance she’s alive.”
Willow shook her head in denial.
He thought of Danny and what he would do if there was a chance that he was still alive. He’d do anything. Absolutely anything. “Willow, there is something we can do. Something now that could help us know if she is alive.” His heart pounded in his chest. “But you’d need to ascend to do it.”
Slowly, she turned to face him. For a long moment, he warred with himself, but the tiny spark of hope in her eyes pushed him to cross the line of no return. “Remember when we talked about the rare Mercurian ability of astral projection during training?”
Starborn (The Order of Orion Book 1) Page 16