I snort. "Says who?"
She shrugs. "It isn't."
"Yes it is, actually. Chromatically, it's the presence of the entire visible spectrum, where black is the absence of all color. Counterintuitive, isn't it?"
She shrugs. "I guess so. I didn't know that."
"Well now you do. You know, I don't think you ever asked me that. I like this game. Keep going."
She thinks for a moment. "Favorite food?"
I laugh. "My mother's pot roast. Are we sticking with favorite things?"
"Movie?" She asks, ignoring my tease.
"Don't have a current favorite; there are quite a few we like to watch occasionally. Not big on television, that's our son's department... perhaps you should ask him?"
"That's easy... Sesame Street. He's watched nothing else all week." She sneezes. My poor wife and son, sick at home for days while I indulged in another business acquisition. It was worth it in terms of the bottom line, but not when it comes to the well-being of my family. We wouldn't have lost our shirts for that one company, far from it… regardless its future worth, which is considerable. With my hands, I gently encourage her to lie back, and she does, resting against her side on the pillows. I pull her robe around her and adjust the blanket, stroke a few stray hairs from her forehead, and on impulse, lean in to press a kiss to her warm skin.
A nurse knocks on the door frame, carrying a tray. "Mr. and Mrs. King, I have your medication." He's a hefty young man, dressed in navy scrubs, and appears fresh-minded. Heaven forbid the nurses' station would send a sleep-deprived intern, else I might... have a problem. I suppress the master-protector, control-freak instinct for the time being. The nurse smiles, bringing the labeled cups to us, along with a pitcher of water. His name tag reads 'James'.
"What is it we're taking?" I ask, bringing my arm around Krissy's shoulders as she tries to sit up again. The effort makes me mildly dizzy.
"Tylenol for you, sir... And for Mrs. King," he consults a slip of paper, peeking at the pills in the cup. He obviously didn't fill the prescription himself. "Pseudoephedrine, a multivitamin and a tetracycline antibiotic. Would you like something besides water to take them with?"
His no-nonsense attitude coupled with the air of accommodation suggests that my mother has exchanged words with him personally. "My wife would like some hot tea, if you can manage it."
"Of course." He adjusts the drip on Krissy's IV, and bows out of the room with an "I'll be back shortly."
"Here, baby. This will help you feel better." She takes the pills and some water willingly, and then leans into my shoulder while I dry-swallow mine. I lean back against my pillow, bringing her with me.
"More questions?" I ask her gently.
She shakes her head, suddenly exhausted. I hold her close, and she drifts, her radiating warmth enveloping me once again, and I soon follow her into unconsciousness.
When I wake, Krissy has turned away from me, but her back is nestled into my front. Her temperature has mercifully evened out. My head is propped on my bent elbow, so I don't disturb her as much when I sit up. My laptop and phone are stacked on a side table, and our rolling tables have been cleared, save an insulated carafe on Krissy's, along with a teacup and box of quality assorted teas. The nurse is apparently well-informed.
I stretch, careful not to jostle the bed and find that the earlier dizziness has subsided. The itch to make contact with the outside world crawls up my spine and urges my fingers to open the laptop and switch on the Blackberry, being sure to set it to silent.
I sort through about sixty emails, forwarding several for Ros to handle, and reply to a few, including one to a buyer concerning Ray Steele's carpentry shop. I've solved the matter of the impending bankruptcy by flooding his business with orders from a relatively unconnected subsidiary, and I've also asked Elliot to pass a few of his clients along, quietly of course. I'm rather pleased with the results. My response to the buyer is short, I'm not really concerned with what he purchases, simply that he meets the quantity requirements I've laid out. I press 'send' and turn my eyes briefly to my wife.
She's trembling again. I lean over for a moment to hold her close, hoping it will pass, and it does. Her temperature feels normal, finally. I press a kiss to her hair and pull the covers up to her shoulders. She does look peaceful. I gaze at her lightly breathing form for another moment and then return to my work.
I approve a couple of background checks to keep human resources moving forward with some replacement hires, all pretty dull, standard stuff. Ros could do it, but I feel better having the final say on who works in the building, now that Krissy's publishing office is under the King House roof.
My Blackberry buzzes. A text from Krissy's mother.
Ray and Grace have been in touch about what happened.
Please call as soon as you can, I'm worried.
I note the time is just after four in the morning. Carla has little sense of time zones; this isn't a first occurrence by any means. I slide quietly out of bed and pad into the nearly empty hallway, exchanging a nod with Jason, who goes back to whatever he's reading. I pull the door mostly closed behind me.
Carla picks up on the second ring.
"Edward? Oh thank goodness. How's my girl?"
She does sound worried, more than worried. It dissolves my exasperation, instantly. "She's all right, Carla. She's sleeping at the moment."
I hear her blow out a breath. "What a relief… even more so to hear it from you. How did this happen?"
"I haven't had much opportunity to ask, to be quite honest. We've both been asleep most of the last couple of days." Manage your temper, King. You're fluent in a parent's protective instinct by now.
"I'm sorry," she says, and she really does sound it. "Your mom did mention that you were injured as well. How are you holding up?"
"Well enough, thank you. Want me to have Krissy call you when she's up to it? Perhaps this evening, after we're home and settled a bit. I'm sure Ryan would like a video chat as well."
"That would be wonderful. Thank you."
"Of course."
"Edward… I'm sorry if I woke you. I just remembered the time difference. I was so worried, I forgot."
I snort. "Forgiven. You're fortunate I'm an early riser, even in this place."
"Take care of yourself, all right? And my little girl?"
"Always."
I click the 'off' button.
"Can I get you anything, Sir?"
I shake my head. "Thank you, Jason. Once again, you've probably done far too much. Above and beyond really is your calling."
"Just doing my job."
We're quiet for a moment. "You're the one who found her?"
He nods. "I'd run into your father and a few LEOs not a quarter mile before, so he was the first who could get there. I sent him the coordinates; he helped me lift her out. Her foot was stuck. Otherwise she might have been able to climb out."
"Jesus."
"Really… someone sure was watching over her."
"I heard my Dad say she had the puppies bundled with her. How are they, by the way?"
"Gail brought them home late yesterday. One had stitches for a gash and the other has a sprained leg. Nothing too serious. I took the liberty of calling a contractor out to install the invisible fence, name of Martinez. He's going to work with Ben this afternoon to get it in the ground. I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all. Now all we need is a dog trainer, and we'll be all set."
My number one nods. "I'll get right on that, Sir."
"Enough with the Sir, Jason." I turn my most grateful stare on the man whom I owe… well, more than I can comprehend at the moment. "You saved Krissy's life. You probably saved mine. You're there, in the right place, just when we need you. I can't begin… to express how much that means to us."
Jason Taylor just blinks. The man has no words. It's a time when 'I'm just doing my job' isn't enough.
"But I'll think of something. And you're going to let me."
"
That's not n…"
"It is necessary, Jason. It's the least I can do." I extend my right hand, and he shakes it. The exchange is brief, but it ends with mutual half-smiles, the best two men can do in the emotion department. I leave him to his novel and shuffle back into the suite.
Krissy's trembling again. I climb back into the bed, pulling her curled form against me, and wait for it to subside as it did before. I can't imagine her new fear of the cold, of the outdoors, of the dark, of inescapable situations, of the helplessness of being alone… I hope John is free a lot this week.
She whimpers, and it's a frightened sound, one she rarely makes. Her hands are balled in fists and pulled tight to her chest. I run my hands lightly over her robed arms, and what were shivers have grown to tremors.
"Can't… get out… please… help…" she mumbles.
"Shh baby, you're safe," I soothe. "Wake up, Krissy. It's just a dream. Come on, baby," I coax her.
She's shaking rather violently, and I wonder suddenly if she's having convulsions, though I've never seen such a thing and have no basis for comparison, but I begin to panic, nonetheless. "Christ, Krissy!" I sit up, rolling her onto her back and giving her a light shake. Her eyes fly open, and my hands go straight to her face.
"Baby, it's all right…"
No sooner have I touched her skin that she gasps as though I've shocked her, and jerks away from my touch, her eyes wide.
"My God, Krissy, it's all right," I try to mollify her, but her gaze is shocked and wary. I drop my hands gently to her shoulders, and she jerks away, violently, emitting a gasping shriek as though my touch is charged. Christ, what's wrong with her? I pull my hands away as one would recoil from touching a lit burner. "Whoa, Krissy!"
She blinks rapidly, and her eyes appear to shift from whatever panic had gripped her, to focus properly on me. Her breaths come heavily, and she coughs a bit. I have to consciously force myself to resist touching her, given her reaction, though my hands itch to comfort her. I wait. And wait. Seeing her so scared and sick is unbearable.
She recovers from the fit, but she's still trembling. I have no idea what to do.
"Krissy, please… talk to me. Are you cold? What can I do? Did you have a nightmare?"
"I don't know," she mumbles, sniffling.
I'm at a loss. "What can I do?" I ask again.
She shrugs, shaking her head. I think she's at a loss as well.
"How are you feeling?"
She shudders. "My skin is crawling."
"Should I get the doctor?"
She sniffles again. "No, no… I think I fell asleep on an anthill in the woods, it felt like I was being bitten everywhere."
My eyes sweep over what skin is exposed. "You don't have a mark on you, save the scratch on your leg," I remind her. "Might it have been a dream?"
"Maybe… but the music was so real."
"Music?"
"Voices… it started out as one, then more and more and it kept getting louder… it was so dark… and they wouldn't stop, and I was stinging all over…" her voice quivers.
"Oh, baby…" my hands come up automatically to comfort her, and she shies back once again. "All right, it's okay, baby. I won't touch you," I reassure her, backing my hands away, bringing them to clasp in my lap, visible and harmless. I can't imagine what's brought this on; random delusions haven't been a part of her recovery… until now. The ordeal must have affected her more than just physically. "Tell me what I can do."
"I'm sorry, it's just…"
"Don't apologize, Krissy. I want to help you, but you need to talk to me. Tell me more."
She shakes her head. "That was all. I climbed into that hole to get Ludwig out, my foot got stuck… it was getting colder so I bundled us together… it got really dark and then I heard the voices, and I felt stinging up my legs and over my body, the voices got louder and louder… and…" she shakes her head again, then her eyes lock with mine. "I don't remember what happened after that, until I woke up here.
A flashback, perhaps? But what on Earth… I feel the blood drain from my face as the truth hits me. The music, voices, beginning solitarily and building, increasing in intensity and volume. The darkness, likely a result of being blindfolded... and her body, stinging.
Fuck. Our first flogger scene.
CHAPTER 16
~ EDWARD ~
My eyes close of their own volition and I sigh heavily. This is going to throw her again... and until now, she's miraculously given me second, third, fourth chances... if anything can doom the progress we've made, it's our lifestyle of kinky fuckery. I often forget how utterly innocent she was when we met.
"Edward? Are you okay?"
When I wrench my eyes open again, she's staring at me with overwhelming concern.
"I'm all right, baby. I believe I've worked out what you're remembering."
She waits.
Why can't I just say it? Oh and by the way, Krissy, I hit you other times and you liked it? You asked me to? You outright ask me to spank you on a semi-regular basis? God... she'll never accept this. But as my stomach twists in fear, I know one thing... I. Must. Not. Lie.
"It's not what you think," I begin. How many times have I begun an explanation with these words? Too fucking many to count. "It may seem strange, but I need you to trust me, all right?"
Krissy studies my expression for a moment. Amazingly, she nods, albeit slowly as though she's not sure. We're interrupted by a sneeze, she blows her nose and recovers. "This has something to do with that… unusual lifestyle stuff… doesn't it?"
I frown. "Yes."
She nods in acknowledgement. "Do I even want to know?"
"I'd like to explain," I say hurriedly. Christ, I'm flustered. My head has begun to throb and I ignore it as best I'm able... I'm so out of my element. "You deserve to know everything. I want you to know."
She nods. "Okay." I see her Adam's apple rise and fall as she swallows. She's nervous.
I resist the urge to take her hand. Mine are still clasped harmlessly in my lap where she can see them. I take yet another deep breath. "It was... a scene, of sorts. You were blindfolded, which is why you can't remember seeing anything. Removing one of the senses heightens the others. You wore earbuds, which explains the music... and again, this was an attempt at increasing other sensations, by inhibiting your ability to hear me, to anticipate what I was doing. And the stinging..." I swallow. This is the most difficult to explain. I form the words as gently as I can. "I imagine the memory may have frightened you. But the sensation you remember was not in any way meant to hurt you, quite the opposite, actually. I used an implement made of long, leather fingers with beads on the end. When I tapped it across your body, it brought your blood to the surface of your skin and made you very sensitive to... other activities."
She frowns. "Other activities?"
I swallow. This has never embarrassed me so much before. She's so innocent. "I... kissed you all over. And then… I made love to you."
She emits a tiny gasp. "Oh."
I nod. "We've shared the experience a number of times."
She looks a bit dazed, but not fearful. She blows her nose again, and then considers me expectantly. "Before and after?"
"Yes." I offer a shy smile. It's all I have.
"Why?"
Why what? Why did I... we... do that? Why is it pleasurable? Why not something else? "Because it's something we like to do together." I subtly emphasize the we.
"Oh." She sniffles.
I cock my head to one side. "How do you feel about it?" Damn it all, I'm reduced to channeling John Flynn.
She blinks. "Okay, I guess. Now that I understand."
I sigh. "You're amazing, Krissy. So understanding and accepting of what we are… were… together. I've always marveled at you're ability to take me as I am. I love that about you."
Her fingers knot around a dry tissue. She sniffles again. "My skin's not crawling anymore."
If that isn't an invitation, I don't know what is. My hands unclasp, reac
h up tentatively, and brush her cheeks with my fingers. She closes her eyes and leans into me, seemingly desperate for warmth, affection, reassurance, I'm not sure what exactly, but on cue, my arms open for her, and I pull her close.
It's a balm for my headache. Her breathing slows, and I rub her back soothingly, and soon, she drifts once again into unconsciousness.
~oOo~
Ryan attached himself to our legs the moment we were out of the car, and he hasn't left Krissy's side since. The puppies are on lockdown in Ryan's old playpen in the Taylors' apartment until further notice, on Gail's insistence. She's vowed responsibility for Krissy's brief disappearance and subsequent hospitalization, and inadvertently mine, and if caring for the dogs alleviates her conscience, she can have it. I've already assured her at some length that none of this was her fault, but she's been brooding, regardless.
My mother's recovery instructions are fucking ludicrous. Staying in bed for hours when not sleeping isn't a reasonable request. Krissy yes, but me, not a chance in Hell… and she ought to know me better. I've instead parked on the chaise in the master suite sitting room while Krissy and Ryan nap in our bed; I can work and keep an eye on them both at the same time. I was unaware until now that my son snores like a bulldozer. It must have to do with his congestion. Krissy is mildly restless, waking about every half hour to blow her nose.
Gail prepares a delicious turkey-noodle soup that we devour as though we haven't eaten in days... Oh wait, we really haven't, save Mia's hospital chowder. Krissy returns to bed, Ryan throws an incoherent tantrum and won't be placated by anyone. I cuddle him awhile but he fights me, making my head pound beyond the baseline throbbing I've quietly endured. I finally place him in front of his beloved Sesame Street monsters and after a time, he quiets.
I return to my work.
I find Krissy on her cell, curled up and speaking quietly. She nods in acknowledgement of my entry and holds up a finger. I retake my place and fire up the laptop, just able to make out that she's talking to Ray, the meddlesome, overprotective sot that I am. My focus splits uncomfortably between an investment portfolio and the smattering of words I can garner from her conversation, the most attention-grabbing of which are "I'll talk to him."
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