Touching Eternity (Touch Series 1.5)

by Airicka Phoenix

  It was a leap, a stretch. Amalie hadn’t looked the least bit happy to see him, but that was nothing to do with her and everything to do with him.

  Garrison hesitated, then said, “You can’t be friends again, Isaiah. I’ve already told you that before. She can’t have friends. She’s not ready.”

  “I don’t mean to be her friend.” It wasn’t a complete lie. “I just think if she associated with someone she felt comfortable with she might relax and take better to her treatments.”

  Skin puckered between Garrison’s eyebrows. His lips pursed in deliberation and Isaiah felt a stab of premature triumph.

  “That’s an interesting theory,” he mused, long fingers reaching up to tap lightly on his chin. “I’ll give it some consideration.” His smile returned. He smacked Isaiah in the shoulder. “Maybe you’d do better in the medical profession.”

  Isaiah said nothing, but offered a small smile.

  ***

  What on God’s green earth possessed him to make such an offer? On what rational plain did his decision solve anything? He swore to himself he would keep away from her. He swore he would never do this to her again. What was he thinking?

  He won’t go through with it. Garrison was nothing if not a logical, rational man. He would see how wrong this theory was and refuse it.

  “Ugh!” With a frustrated snarl, he thrust his hand through his hair. He slammed his free hand into the corridor wall and slumped in with it until his brow rested against the fist. His eyes closed.

  Stupid! He was so stupid!

  Chapter 4

  Garrison

  Garrison studied the serene face of his wife, traced the elegant curves of her sharp cheekbones, pointy chin and the way her lips resembled a small heart, even when she smiled. In the picture, her dark hair was swept back in a shiny, coiffed knot at the top of her head. A large lily clipped the left side, just over her ear. Abigail had always loved lilies. Before Amalie was born, she would spend hours in the gardens, elbow deep in dirt, smelling of overturned soil, sunshine, sweat and grass. She always had dirt under her nails, twigs in her hair and mud smearing her clothes, but she would be smiling as if every moment was a sip of sunlight and she couldn’t get enough. After her death, Garrison had the gardens torn out, replaced by slabs of winding concrete, marble fountains and ivory statues. Nothing of Abigail’s gardens remained. He had made sure of that. The only reminder of her now was the daughter she’d left behind and the picture.

  He considered removing the picture from his desk. It was the only existing image of his wife. He’d made certain of that and so many times he started to toss it away, but she was a reminder now, a reminder that he couldn’t afford to be weak, that he couldn’t allow himself be blindsided again. If she had come to him sooner with her sickness, had given herself to his capable hands, had let him cure her…well, there was, no use rehashing unnecessary memories now. She was dead and he was not and he was wiser.

  “You did this,” he told the glossy frame. “You left me no choice.”

  Abigail just smiled from behind her glass prison, frozen forever as the woman he had fallen in love with, married and had a daughter with. Frozen in the lie.

  Selfish. That’s what she was. How could she expect him to ever forgive her for the betrayal, for the unjustifiable audacity? He had given her everything, a beautiful home with no expense spared, love, attention, a daughter he hadn’t wanted. But she had asked and he, ever the obliging husband, had indulged her. Then she went and left him with a defective child.

  He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

  He loved Amalie. Lord knew he did, but she made it nearly impossible to do so. There were times he was certain she was deliberately being difficult to frustrate him.

  No. He couldn’t think like that. She didn’t mean it. She was sick. It wasn’t her fault. It was Abigail’s fault. Amalie was in this situation because of her. He couldn’t blame Amalie for that.

  “Are you happy with yourself for what you’ve done?” He sneered at the picture. “I hope you’re rotting wherever you are!”

  With a disgusted flick of his wrist, he slapped the frame face down. The glass hit the desk with a crunch under his abuse and he knew he would need another frame, or maybe this time, he would finally just dispose of the thing and be done with it. Maybe.

  For now, he was dropping a stack of folders on top, tucking it out of sight, and composed himself. It wouldn’t do to get worked up over that when he had his share of more important matters to deal with in the form of a pimply-faced, nasally weasel named Mortimer Hobbs.

  Just the thought of his name had Garrison’s blood bubbling. His fingers curled into fists on the polished surface of his desk. The veins blistered along the back of his hand to the white caps of his knuckles. His jaw creaked under the force of his gritted teeth.

  He would see soon enough what happened to little rats who questioned things beyond their comprehension. Garrison had powers that went beyond those of a pathetic fool. His breakthrough in genetics modifications was going to revolutionize the next stage in human evolution. His work would live on forever. And Mortimer Hobbs would be nothing more than an insignificant blip in the scheme of things.

  Nevertheless, he couldn’t let that little worm spill his poison into the ears of the board or the university. Garrison couldn’t let him destroy everything he’d worked his entire life to accomplish. It only took a single seed of doubt to take root and he’d be finished.

  Not if I finish him first! He thought heatedly. Mortimer Hobbs had voiced his last concern as far as Garrison was concerned.

  No sooner had he smoothed a calming hand through his hair and down the front of his eggshell-white suit when a soft knock interrupted his thoughts. He straightened in his swiveling chair.

  “Come in!”

  The doorknob rattled. It turned. The door opened and Isaiah poked his head in. “You asked to see me, sir?”

  Garrison smiled, motioning him inside. “Yes! Come in!”

  Quietly, Isaiah slipped into the room and closed the door behind him. He padded across the antique rug to stop behind the twin seats facing the desk.

  A genuine surge of affection rose through Garrison as he took the boy in, a boy he’d raised and molded to be the man standing before him. His greatest creation! Without him, Isaiah would have been just another statistic, another name on a dusty, abandoned folder, just another child coaxed back to his lab for examination. No one ever cared about the wild-eyed children on the streets. No one ever cared when one or two went missing. But Garrison had seen worth in those eight year old eyes. Isaiah had come a long way since they first met in the dirty alley downtown Vancouver. He was no longer the filthy, starved gutter rat Garrison had caught trying to pick his pockets for the handful of coins there. He was no longer savage and angry. Garrison had seen to that. He had made sure the boy was brought home, fed, clothed and cared for. He took the boy under his wing, put him through the best schools, to defend himself…better himself. Not a penny was spared. It was because of Garrison that Isaiah was given the opportunity to grow into such a handsome, loyal young man.

  It was far more than any of the other children Garrison took in got. The other children were expendable. They were disappointing.

  “Yes, sir?”

  Garrison waved for him to sit. “How are you this morning, Isaiah?”

  Carefully, Isaiah lowered himself into the emerald-green leather. “All right, sir.”

  “No more thoughts about the previous night?”

  Isaiah hesitated as Garrison knew he would, had almost expected him to. The boy may want to be a solider, but he wore his emotions on his sleeve like a shield. His anger practically leapt off him in waves.

  “You still don’t believe I handled the situation properly,” he answered for him.

  Isaiah dropped his gaze, but his knuckles went white around the armrests. “Not my place to judge, sir.”

  Garrison clicked his tongue. “Now I’m offended you would think like
that, Isaiah. Haven’t you always been a son to me?”

  He wasn’t quick enough to conceal his wince. “Yes, sir.”

  “Then please show me the courtesy of being honest.”

  The wood creaked under Isaiah as he adjusted his weight. He raised his eyes and Garrison was struck by the fire behind the accusation in them. “No, sir, I don’t believe you did.”

  His own chair groaned as Garrison sat back. He rested his elbows on his armrests and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “And how would you have handled the situation?”

  He faltered and Garrison smothered his triumph. “I wouldn’t have been so rough with her.”

  Garrison cocked his head to the left. His eyes narrowed. “I understand you once considered her your friend, but when she gets to that point, you can’t let your emotions get the better of you. You need to do what you have to in order to keep her from hurting herself or others. I did what I had to.”

  “She was scared,” Isaiah murmured. “I’ve never seen her like that.”

  Garrison sighed, rubbing the tips of his fingers over his brow, grinding the slight pinch at his temples. “Things aren’t what they used to be, Isaiah. What you saw were the side effects of what transpired last year.”

  Isaiah shifted again. “Side effects, sir?”

  He nodded. “She went into a deep depression, wouldn’t eat or sleep, hardly even spoke. It was around the time you went back to school last fall, but it wasn’t her normal reaction to your departure.”

  “Sir?”

  “Well, she would always get upset when you left, which was understandable. You were the only child she knew her age and I think she became a little infatuated with you, but this was different. She became withdrawn, started talking to herself, saying odd things…” He shook his head. “I think she started hurting herself. During one of her examinations, I noticed bruises. She refused to tell me the cause. I had to remove everything from her room that may cause potential harm. I was going to take her to the lab, find her a safe place there, but then I changed her medication and she seemed to level out, became calmer. Granted, she still has her moments like last night, but I think we’re making progress. Isaiah?”

  The boy had gone ashen with tinges of gray around his cheeks. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Are you all right?”

  Isaiah pushed higher up in his chair, straightened his spine. “Yes, sir. I’m just…”

  He didn’t need to finish.

  “I understand,” Garrison said.

  Isaiah blinked. “You do?”

  He rose, smoothed a hand over his suit front. “Of course.” He wandered over to the drink cart. “You worry about her.”

  He heard Isaiah’s exhale from across the room. “Yes, sir, I do.”

  Garrison lingered over the cart, pouring lemon-scented tea into the delicate teacup, then adding just the right amount of sugar and cream to turn it a soft brown. The spoon made a melodious tinkling sound as he stirred.

  “I believe you do.” He turned to face the younger man, still stirring. “And I believe you have her best interests at heart.”

  Isaiah nodded. “I do, sir.”

  Garrison returned to the desk, set his cup down and regained his seat. “I really believe you would do whatever it takes to help her.”

  “I would, sir.”

  “Why?” He knew the question caught the other man by surprise.

  Isaiah faltered. He stiffened. He said nothing. But he didn’t have to. Garrison already knew the answer. He was a doctor. It was his job to examine people, to diagnose them and to get into their heads and see how they ticked. He knew the workings of a man’s mind better than anyone. Isaiah wasn’t as clever as he liked to believe. Garrison knew every motivation behind every thought.

  Nevertheless, he waited for Isaiah to tell him.

  The boy leaned forward in his seat, sliding his palms up his thighs, then down as he sat back. The nervous gesture nearly amused him.

  “She accepted me,” Isaiah said at long last, staring fixedly at the lip of Garrison’s desk. “She was the only one that didn’t think I was…garbage.”

  “You think you owe her for that?”

  Blue eyes rose, pinned his levelly. “She was the only friend I ever had and she didn’t want anything in return except…” he faltered, shut his mouth as if to lock the rest from getting out.

  But now Garrison was intrigued. “Except what?”

  Isaiah looked away. His brows furrowed. His jaw muscles tensed. “Except for me not to think she was crazy.”

  “And did you? Think she was crazy,” he added when Isaiah frowned.

  “No. Never.” He dampened his lips. “I always believed she was just lonely.”

  Garrison sat back as far as the chair would allow and studied the boy across from him thoughtfully. His own mind wasn’t fully made up about what he was about to say, but he was convinced enough to consider it good research material. Isaiah needed to be tested. His loyalty needed to be put into question. His concern was endearing, but it would take much more than concern to do what Garrison did. It would take getting his hands dirty and putting logic before heart.

  “I don’t believe Amalie is ready to interact with people,” he began slowly, carefully. “I don’t believe she ever will be. Abigail…” His gaze flittered to the stack of folders on the corner of his desk and flittered away again just as quickly. “Abigail was very sociable on her good days, days she took her medication and was supervised around the clock. But she never stayed that way when the sickness took over. Then she was violent and irate, impossible to control. She wouldn’t even recognize Amalie on those days. You know how that turned out.”

  Isaiah nodded, face grave. “Yes, sir.”

  “I won’t let that happen to Amalie. I won’t let Amalie follow her mother’s mistakes. She needs structure and discipline. I don’t think change this quick in the game would be good for her. She went through a very bad time after you left last year. I don’t want that to happen again. It was very hard to pull her out and I’m still struggling.”

  Isaiah’s head drooped. “I understand, sir.”

  Garrison’s eyes narrowed. “That’s it? You won’t fight me on the decision?”

  He shook his head. “No, I want what’s best for her. I want her to get better. I know if anyone can do it, it’s you, sir.”

  His loyalties and his faith warmed Garrison. It reminded him why he cherished this boy so deeply. It wasn’t because he’d spent thousands of dollars to make him into the man standing before him. It was because they both shared something, something vital, something no other possessed, something that couldn’t be taught. It was a primal need to survive, to do whatever it took to make it. It was calculated cruelty in its most concentrated form. It was the hunger to mold the world into something stronger. It was that spark Garrison wanted. If he could channel it, use it, there would be no stopping him. He would be in control. With Isaiah at his side, nothing would ever be able to stop them.

  Yes, he mused, feeling a surge of elation. Isaiah would make the perfect leader for his army.

  And every leader needed to be tested.

  “I need you to do something for me.”

  Isaiah straightened. “Yes, sir?”

  He took a moment to sip the drink that had gone cold. Not enough sugar. He set the cup down once more, leaned back. His gaze lifted to search the eyes watching him, waiting. Honest eyes, he mused. They hadn’t always been. It had taken years to earn the trust the boy guarded greedily, but he had known that once he did, the boy would prove to be very useful. His unfaltering loyalty would become a great asset.

  A handy trait in a solider. He just needed a small push.

  “What I’m about to ask of you, I need you to give me your solemn vow you will not divulge to anyone.”

  A crease appeared in the center of Isaiah’s brow, but he answered firmly, “Yes, sir.”

  Garrison paused, not out of hesita
tion, but to be fully prepared for Isaiah’s reaction when he finally said the words. “I need you to take care of a problem I’m having with a colleague.”

  Chapter 5

  Amalie

  Amalie opened her eyes to a mouthful of gritty sand, a head full of angry hornets and a devastating drum of pain throbbing down her spine. Her vision swam as she parted her lashes. Sharp spears of light stabbed her straight through the skull, infuriating the irate buzzing resounding between her ears. She started to raise her hand, needing to wipe away the tears blinding her, when her wrists caught on something, jerked and were yanked back down to her sides. The familiar clang of metal clattering against metal resonated like thunder through the room.