She started to ask how, but stopped herself as the wide, double doors came into view.
Sunlight pierced through the colored glass, spilling pale reds, greens and yellows across the hardwood floor. The beauty of it had nothing to do with the image of angel carved into the glass. It was the possibility beyond that spurred her onward.
“Amalie.”
Isaiah’s hand tightened around hers even before the gruff voice slammed into her spine like a physical blow. She staggered forward, tripping on her own feet. Isaiah caught her, righted her, but then stuffed her behind his back as they turned to face the tall, shadowy figure coming at them with slow, easy strides.
Every muscle in Amalie’s body tensed. Her stomach writhed as though snakes had taken residence. Sweat slicked the fingers she tried to tighten around Isaiah’s hand.
Her father observed her through flat, green eyes. He never seemed to notice Isaiah or the protective stance he had in front of Amalie, or Derek shifting his weight as well towards her. “You’re out of your room.” It was not a question, nor did he sound pleased about it.
Oh God was she not supposed to be? Had she missed something? The gyrating thoughts spun in her mind, making her dizzy and lightheaded. For a panicked moment she wondered if she had enough time to run back, but Isaiah was speaking then, drawing the attention away from her.
“I was taking her to the gardens,” he said evenly.
It finally seemed to register that Amalie wasn’t alone when Garrison’s gaze swung to the man at her side. He blinked, surprised to find Isaiah there, but he caught himself quickly and the impassive mask slipped back into place.
“Perhaps later. I need a moment with Amalie.”
No! Her mind gasped, but her lips were too frozen to repeat the protest.
“All right,” Isaiah said with too much calm.
Garrison turned and started back the way he’d come, expecting Amalie to follow. But Amalie’s kneecaps had locked into place, refusing to allow her even a single step.
“It’s all right,” Isaiah whispered to her.
Amalie stared transfixed and petrified after her father. “I knew I should have stayed in my room. I should have stayed!”
Isaiah stepped into her line of vision, blocking the sight of Garrison’s stiff back and forcing her to look up into his face. “Nothing is going to happen. I’m going to be with you I promise.”
She shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. “You can’t promise that.”
He framed her face between his hands. “I. Promise!” He stressed each word carefully through his teeth.
Needing to believe him, she let herself be led through the maze of corridors to the only room that could turn her bowels to liquid. Sweat dampened her dress to her spine and plastered strands of hair to her temples. Her bones creaked with every violent tremor that tightened her grip a little more each time around Isaiah’s hand. If it was hurting him, he never said.
The stench of antiseptic punched them in the face the moment the door was opened. Garrison stepped back and motioned for her to continue in. He held up a hand when Isaiah followed.
“You can wait outside,” Garrison told him.
Amalie’s hands tightened around Isaiah’s.
Isaiah didn’t seem to notice as he blinked at Garrison in surprise. “Outside?” He shook his head. “But I thought…” He let his voice trail off and his eyebrows bunch in confusion.
“Yes?” Garrison prompted.
Isaiah shrugged. “I just thought you wanted me to learn more about what you do. I can’t learn anything if you shut me out.”
If Garrison was surprised by the remark or Isaiah’s sudden interested in the family business, his face never conveyed it. He stared into Isaiah’s face, his own perfectly blank.
“And what changed your mind?” he drawled. “You seemed so abhorred by my ethics only last week.”
Isaiah never so much as batted an eyelash. He kept Garrison’s gaze levelly and replied, “I took some time to consider it and realized you were right. Drastic measures need to be taken sometimes in order to accomplish a bigger goal.”
Garrison’s eyebrows jerked up his forehead. It was the only true reaction from him. “And what is the goal here?”
“To make Amalie better.” He paused, then added, “And change the way people see the mentally defective.”
Garrison shook his head. “No. Our job is to right the wrong nature has done on people by eliminating the disease that handicaps them.”
Isaiah nodded slowly, all the pretenses of an eager pupil. “Right.”
Garrison stepped back, his green eyes never leaving Isaiah. “You will not interfere, is that understood?”
Again, Isaiah nodded. “Understood, sir.”
“You will observe only.”
Without a word, Isaiah dragged Amalie into the room. He took a glance around and Amalie wondered what the room looked through his eyes, wondered if he saw the evil that lurked in every corner. Somehow she doubted it. She had a personal connection to the white walls, to the metal slab, the unnaturally bright lights and the sickening stench that never seemed to lift. It was as much a part of her as her arms.
“On the table, Amalie,” her father said, shutting the door, but not before Amalie caught sight of Derek hovering in the corridor shadows, a dark expression twisting his face.
Carefully, she released Isaiah and shuffled to the examination table. It wasn’t until the palms of her hands touched the icy sheet that she wished with all her might that Isaiah wasn’t there, about to watch her at her weakest state. She didn’t want him to see what would be done to her. She didn’t want him to see her break.
Her vision swam with tears as she hefted herself up, twisted her torso and lay down. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on the blinding lights above, willing herself not to steal a peek at him, not wanting to see his expression.
Shuffles alerted her to her father’s approach. Her stomach muscles seized. She closed her eyes.
Rubber encased fingers prodded her throat, ran the lengths of her arms, her legs. They peeled apart her eyelids to peer into her eyes. Aside from the scuffle of her father’s shoes, no sound issued anywhere in the room.
“What’s that for?” The unexpected sound of Isaiah’s voice jolted through the room like thunder, startling Amalie. Her eyes snapped open and she turned her head.
Her father was walking towards her again, blocking her of Isaiah, but giving her a clear view of the needle in his hand. Her stomach churned.
“Lysergic acid diethylamide,” Garrison answered evenly, lifting the syringe and giving the side a couple of flicks. “With an extra boost to speed things up.”
To Amalie, the title meant nothing. She wasn’t even sure she could pronounce much of it. But the sharp inhale from Isaiah warned her it wasn’t something she wanted injected into her body.
“LSD. That’s the stuff you were giving Hans, isn’t it?”
Garrison gave a sharp nod. “That’s correct.”
“Why are you giving her that?” Isaiah asked, taking a step forward to stand next to Garrison. His face was blank, but Amalie knew him too well not to notice the tension rippling down the length of his body.
Garrison stopped and turned to him. “We have been having such great success with this in the lab. Perhaps with this the chemical imbalance in her brain will level out and help her cope with more ease. With a few minute adjustments, we may even successfully erase certain events.”
Isaiah’s brows dipped, but on his composed features, it merely looked contemplating. “You want her to forget what happened?”
Garrison cocked his head ever so slightly, thoughtfully. “Don’t you?” Isaiah didn’t answer and Garrison didn’t seem to need one as he continued. “This brand has been modified to move directly through the system with no delay. We won’t have to hardly wait for a reaction.”
Amalie stiffened when rubbery fingers touched the underside of her elbow. Her fingers bunched into fists at her sides and she g
ritted her teeth.
“Let me!” Isaiah closed the remaining few steps until he practically stood between the needle and her.
Garrison paused, visibly considering, then shook his head. “You might not know how. I better do it.”
“I can,” Isaiah said. “They taught us at the Academy how to administer injections during medical training.”
Garrison hesitated, but with a resigned nod, he passed the syringe to Isaiah and took several steps back.
Isaiah turned to Amalie. His gaze met hers.
“I won’t hurt you,” he murmured, reaching for her arm.
Out of reflex, Amalie flinched. His touch became gentle. He stroked her forearm lightly with his fingertips, releasing a series of goose bumps across her flesh.
“Don’t move, okay?”
She could only nod, watching paralyzed as he shifted his body closer, blocking her arm from Garrison who watched from a few feet away. With his gaze still locked with hers, he raised the syringe. Amalie tensed. She squeezed her eyes shut and twisted her face away.
Seconds passed, each drumming as loud as her heartbeat as she waited to feel the sting, to feel the liquid rush through her veins. But when nothing happened, she opened her eyes, turned her head just in time to see Isaiah pull the needle from his own arm. Her eyes widened. Horror rushed through her. Her hands lifted, reaching. He stepped back, giving his head a slight shake.
His face was flushed and he was breathing hard.
“Woozy,” he mouthed, indicating with his eyes that she should pretend to be.
He turned away just as Garrison stepped up to see.
“How do you feel?” he asked Amalie.
Trying not to look at Isaiah as he stumbled to the door, Amalie swallowed hard. “Woozy,” the single word came out broken, like she was about to be sick, which she felt like she would be, not knowing what would happen to Isaiah, if he would be all right.
Garrison nodded slowly, taking a step forward, hands outstretched towards her face, to check her pupils. He never got there when across the room Isaiah bent over and threw up.
“Isaiah!” Amalie was up before she could remember she was supposed to act disorientated and dizzy. Thankfully, Garrison was already crossing to him and didn’t notice.
“I’m okay!” Isaiah panted, still doubled over. “I never liked needles.”
Garrison chuckled, smacking Isaiah in the back. “I was the same way when I started. The idea of poking people with it…” He gave a shudder. “But you did wonderfully for your first time.”
Isaiah straightened, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. “Thank you, sir.”
Still beaming proudly, Garrison reached around Isaiah for the doorknob. He wrenched it open and glanced at the man standing on the other side.
“Derek, can you help Amalie back to her room? I’ll be by to check her progress.”
Derek stepped into the room, careful to avoid the puddle of vomit as he advanced on her. His shrewd gaze took her in carefully, but he didn’t comment, nor did he touch her as she slipped off the table herself.
Amalie stared at Isaiah, her heart in her throat in fear.
“Derek, you will inform me of any changes you see in her,” Garrison said as they shuffled out of the room. “The dosage was very minimal, but I will check on her in the morning.”
Derek inclined his head. “Yes, sir.”
As soon as the door closed between them, Amalie ran to Isaiah just as he sagged against the wall, half slumped to the ground. His entire body convulsed as though a thousand watts of electricity coursed through his veins. His knees shuddered, nearly folding beneath him.
Her fingers closed around his shirt front as if she could somehow singlehandedly keep him upright. “Isaiah! Look at me!” Her breath lodged in her throat when he tried and failed to lift his head. “Isaiah, look at me!”
“A…Am…” His voice rasped, broke.
A sob caught in her throat. “Why? Why did you do it?”
He raised his head, his face glistening with sweat. His eyeballs rolled and he had to blink to focus them. His head fell forward again and he squeezed his eyes closed.
“Because I love you, Ams.”
Chapter 24
Amalie
Amalie refused to let Isaiah return to his own room. She refused to leave him alone, even when he staggered into the bathroom and closed the door between them. She sat outside the door and whispered what she hoped was soothing nonsense from the other side.
“Do you remember the time you had the flu and thought you caught my…my crazy?” She sniffled in between the chuckle that slipped out. “And I hit you? I felt so bad afterwards.”
On the other side of the door, Isaiah retched. She wasn’t sure if her rambling was helping him at all, but it was all she could do
“You were my best friend, too.” A sob caught in her throat. “You were the only thing that kept me going, kept me sane. I could handle anything my father did so long as I knew you were going to come back. You…” She trailed off, biting her bottom lip when it trembled. “Don’t you dare die on me, Isaiah.”
Silence met her. She pressed her ear against the door, listening for the rustle of clothes, the scuffle of feet, vomiting, breathing…anything!
“Isaiah?” She was scrambling up to her knees. Her hand closed around the doorknob and she wrenched it open.
The pungent stench inside slammed into her like a physical force. She recoiled, feeling her own stomach roil and her eyes water. Her hand instinctively flew to her face, covering her mouth and nose simultaneously.
“Isaiah?” She crept inside, still on her knees.
He sat next to the toilet, back against the wall, head back, eyes closed. His face was white and pasty. There were dark, red circles beneath his eyes and around his nose. His hair was matted to his skull and he was trembling uncontrollably.
Still alive! He’s still alive!
“Isaiah!” She went to him. Her hands rested on his shuddering chest, curled into his damp shirt.
His lashes fluttered opened. The pupils swallowed all of the blue so it looked like black pools peering back at her from a landscape of snow. Her heart convulsed.
“Isaiah?” She touched his face, wincing at the heat radiating off his skin.
At her touch, he shivered. His eyes closed. “So…soft!” he breathed, turning his face into her palm. He inhaled. “Sweet.” His face turned towards her, the look in them hungry. His fingers closed around her waist and she was dragged forward to straddle his lap. Her squeak of protest melted into a gasp of surprise and pleasure when his face found the underside of her jaw. “So pretty,” he groaned into her skin.
Against her will, her fingers tightened on his shoulders and her head dropped back, giving him free reign to melt the column of her throat with his lips. It was only when she inhaled deeply that reality punched her in the nose.
“Isaiah, it stinks in here!” she choked, stuffing her nose and mouth behind her hand again.
He nipped at her chin with his teeth. His hands wandered all over her, rubbing and stroking and pushing away pieces of fabric to find skin. He groaned almost deliriously when his palm touched her bare thigh.
“Feel so good!”
“Still stinks!” she said, struggling to get away from his tempting hands. “And so does your breath!”
With a single, unsteady movement, he somehow got to his feet with her still wrapped around his middle. He held her there despite her protest and stalked out of the bathroom.
“Isaiah, wait!” But it was too late. He dumped her on the bed and made quick work climbing over her. Panic swelled up inside her, replacing the single moment of normalcy. “Wait! Stop!”
He recoiled, jerking back in surprise when she shoved against him, twisting her body simultaneously. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Derek snap out of his chair, but she was more concerned about the weight crushing her into the mattress, the body burning her with its heat. Too many unwanted memories of being restrained, h
urt coiled through her until she was sure she’d be sick.
“Get off!” she pleaded, using the comforter to try and drag herself free.
Isaiah scrambled off, lost his balance was tumbled off the edge of the bed. The crashing thud of his body propelled her upright. She hurriedly sat up and peered over the edge to find him just lying there, staring up at the ceiling.
“Isaiah!” She hurried down beside him, grabbed his shirt front and tried to drag him up. “Are you okay?”
Isaiah looked down at Amalie, his eyes a little too bright. “You are so beautiful.” His fingers traced her eyebrows, her cheek, the line of her nose, her lips. “I’ve seen hundreds of girls, but not one was ever as beautiful as you.”
Touching Eternity (Touch Series 1.5) Page 22