by Liz Graham
Chapter 10
S he heard her name called as if through a thick bank of fog and slowly blinked open her eyes. It took her a moment to remember where she was, and why she was lying on this dusty floor with her hands bound behind her back. Devon was calling her name, but why was he here?
‘Conor?’
Devon’s face was drawn together with worry as he looked down at her, gently shaking her shoulder. She moved to sit up but searing pain reminded her of the ropes tightly binding her arms behind her back.
‘Uggh,’ she groaned, her nose now feeling like it was stuffed with cotton wool. She squirmed against the dusty wooden floor, turning onto her side.
‘Oh dear God,’ Devon murmured. He grabbed something from the floor and moved it towards her. It was Enoch’s knife. The light flashed on the blade, making her flinch.
‘It's okay,’ he said gently. ‘I'm just going to cut these ropes.’
He worked to get the blade through the rope, then gave up and untied them in a matter of seconds.
‘That blade was pretty dull,’ he noted as she rubbed her sore wrists and ankles. He sat back and inspected her. ‘Are you alright?’
She shook her head, numbly. Devon reached out his arm around her back to support her.
Conor leaned into the security that his arm offered. There was only her and him in the world at that moment, and she was flooded with the desire to nestle there forever. He had saved her. He had somehow known she was in trouble, and came to rescue her from danger. They were meant to be, after all. She nodded into his chest.
He abruptly dropped her from his embrace.
‘Good,’ he said ‘I’ve got to go look after Enoch.’
‘Enoch tried to kill me!’ she attempted to say, but her mumbled words were lost in a sneeze. Oh great, she thought, as she sat on the floor and wiped her nose with her sleeve.
‘What about me?’ she asked, but he was gone.
She heard a muttering in the corner and looked over. The room was still flooded with the light from the car headlights. The candles on the battered wooden table had fallen and gone out - there must have been a scuffle after she’d fainted. Enoch, hunched down into the corner, was caught in the full force of the glare of light. His bowed head nodded and jerked as he chanted to himself.
Devon approached him gently, reaching into his black doctor’s bag. He withdrew a syringe and bottle and gave Enoch a jab of something. The chanting died down to a hardly legible mumble.
He quietly led the older man by the arm out of the room, leaving Conor to follow on her own. She sniffed back another sneeze, feeling forgotten and sorry for herself, as well as stuffed up and stiff. She dolefully picked herself off the floor and followed the men through the dark hallway to the back door. The sun had completely sunk below the horizon now, leaving only fast disappearing streaks of copper and violet clouds in its wake, the colours being quickly swallowed up by the dark blue of the night sky. She listlessly made her way down the steps.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked forlornly as they reached the cars.
‘I’m taking Enoch to the hospital,’ he called over his shoulder, helping the drowsy man into the back seat of the car. ‘You’re alright to drive yourself?
‘I’ll stop in and call the police on my way,’ he said. Conor stood in the dark, her shoulders drooping as she watched him help Enoch into the back seat of his car.
‘What about me?’ she asked, repeating the question he hadn’t heard before. She had almost been killed, after all. Didn't she need attention, to help her through the trauma? Wasn’t that what knights in shining armor did?
‘No, I don’t need you,’ he said. ‘Enoch is stable for now. But I'd go home to bed if I were you. That sounds like a nasty cold coming on.’
She sneezed miserably in agreement, and was forced to use her sleeve again to wipe. What sort of doctor couldn't at least offer a tissue? But none was forthcoming as he climbed into his car and pulled away.
She glumly plodded back to the van, and heaved herself up into the driver's seat with a wince. She followed his taillights back to town to the hospital parking lot.
Conor watched as Devon helped a pliant Enoch through the doors to the Emergency department. The RCMP weren’t long getting there after that.
Her head had been steadily growing more muzzy all evening, although she’d been too stupefied at the time to realize it. No doubt that was why Enoch had been able to sneak up and capture her so easily. At the same time, the adrenaline had not yet left her system - she was as hyped as if she’d drunk a pot of coffee.
So it was she found herself two hours later still parked by the hospital, sniffling and sneezing and feeling really sorry for herself. She was waiting for Devon to come out so that he, too, could see what a miserable sight she was. But he didn't come.
As she sat, she remembered the story of Sedna, the woman who had held out for the perfect man. He had never come for her, in the end, either. Sedna had ruled the waves, alone.
She finally drove home without seeing Devon. Two glasses with congealing dregs sat on the table beside the whiskey bottle, which made her feel even more alone. Seamus had a friend, someone he could share a companionable drink with, but she felt like she had none in the world. He was snoring the sleep of the healthy on the sofa, so not even he was available to let her talk.
CONOR SLEPT BADLY, with disturbing visions of light and heat, of choking, and of strange voices in her bedroom. The broken sleep went on forever, it seemed, yet when she opened her eyes to the unfamiliar morning sun shining through her curtains she still felt unrested.
A strangled sound escaped her throat as she realized it must be very late. She lay back on her pillows and groaned. What time was it?
What day was it?
She had a feeling that day had changed to night and back again, but she didn’t know how many times and vaguely remembered the faces of first Devon, then Doc Oster, hovering over her, and several other, even stranger dream visions.
‘Did I hear you waking, lass?’ Seamus entered the room with a glass of orange juice in hand. ‘Here, sit up and drink this.’
I-le plumped the pillows and helped her up.
‘You had us worried there for a day or so,’ he said. ‘The doctors have been round here day and night.’
‘What doctors?’ she croaked, bleary still.
‘Doc Oster and Devon, of course,’ he replied.
‘I remember seeing them — but l thought I was dreaming,’ she said, puzzled.
‘You've been dreaming in bed with a fever for a good two or three days,’ he said. ‘You missed all the excitement.’
Excitement? She sank back letting the pillows support her back.
‘I had enough excitement,’ she said after drinking a sip of juice and clearing her throat. ‘Out on the old base with Enoch.’
‘Yes, I couldn’t believe a daughter of mine let him get the better of her,’ Seamus laughed, then added in a kinder voice. ‘Well, you weren’t yourself, not with the fever coming on.’
‘Get the better of me?’ she asked. She lifted her head slightly to send her father the strongest look of outrage she could muster. ‘He was going to kill me!’
He father held the glass of juice back to her mouth and she drank obediently.
‘It was an odd thing, that,’ he said kindly. ‘And surely no one saw it coming. Who is to know what goes on in the head of another man?
‘But not to worry lass. That bit of knife wouldn’t have done anything, from what Devon said.’
She let her head fall back listlessly back into the pillow. Devon. He’d abandoned her after saving her, more concerned with her assailant than herself. The days before her illness, before she'd left for Corner Brook, came flooding back to her. So much had happened! She tried to clear her head, while remembering the protest, the night she'd spent in Devon’s arms, then the flurry of activity getting ready for the gallery show.
The opening ... she’d ignored and avoided Devon, been angry
with him. Why?
Oh yes. Now it came back to her clearly. Melissa and Devon laughing at her father, bringing back the hurt of her childhood, and also making her accept why she and Devon could never make a go of it.
But she had finally gotten her priorities straight.
Conor turned to her father and grasped her hand.
‘Thank you for looking after me,’ she said, her voice coming stronger and gratitude in her eyes.
‘But now, l have to get back to things,’ she said almost firmly.
Seamus placed his hand on her forehead and pushed her back against the pillows.
‘The bakery,’ she said, struggling to get up again.
‘The bakery is fine,’ her father told her. ‘Susan has turned out to be a very accomplished little worker. We’re a grand pair together in the shop, I tell you.
‘Now you just rest up a little more,’ he said. ‘Until you’re a hundred percent better.’
CONOR KNEW FROM DOC OSTER‘S experience that rest was the only cure, so she forced herself to remain in bed for two more days. She spent the time getting the Celtic Knot’s books in order.
‘Lass, there’s someone downstairs wanting to see you,’ Seamus poked his head in the door as she sat in bed with her ledgers.
‘Oh, Dad, I’m not up for visitors yet,’ she replied looking up at him and reaching her hand to her head. Her hair was unwashed and messy, and she was still in her pyjamas. She was taking this bed rest idea seriously for the first time in her life.
He hesitated in the doorway.
‘I think you should see this one,’ he said, a slight smile lighting his hazel eyes as he nodded. ‘This is a special visitor.’
Seamus had her full interest. Who could it be? Was this something to do with the base and the artists’ retreat?
‘Who is it?’ she asked.
His grin grew broader and he leaned into the room to whisper the name.
Conor’s eyes widened, then just as quickly narrowed with determination.
‘Absolutely not,’ she said firmly. ‘I have no desire to see that man. Ever again.’
She slammed the ledger closed for emphasis and crossed her arms, staring at the pale bedroom wall. She could sense her father's surprise.
‘But, lass,’ he said in wonderment. ‘Conor, why ever not?’
How could she explain to her dear Dad why she had no desire to see Devon, the reason she had decided to cut the man out of her life? She couldn't, not without hurting his feelings and causing him shame.
‘He's... he’s a snob, that's why,’ she said, still not meeting his eye. ‘I hate him, okay? That a good enough reason?’
Seamus remained in the doorway, unsatisfied with this feeble explanation. She knew he wouldn’t move until she told him more.
‘Devon is not a good guy,’ she said, finally turning to her father, her eyes pleading for him to understand. ‘You don’t realize. He and Melissa...’
She turned away, but not before Seamus saw the tear trickle down her cheek.
‘I don't care what he says — the only reason he carne to St. Anthony in the first place was to be with her,’ she continued, spitting out the last word. She dashed a hand to her face to wipe off the offending tear, and faced her Dad again.
‘I don’t want to see him,’ she said again, flatly. ‘Tell him to leave.’
He nodded slowly, concern growing on his face, and went back down the stairs. Conor strained to hear the men's voices through the open door, but only deep murmurings made their way up to her ears.
She imagined their conversation, picturing in her mind’s eye Seamus fully outraged ordering the tall blond man out of his house, and forced a weakly triumphant smile to her face. She was glad Seamus was doing this for her, for she didn’t trust herself not to throw herself body and soul into Devon's arms if he gave her just one indication that he wanted her.
Conor stuffed down the intrusive memory of the night at the base, when for that moment she was lying in his arms again, lulled with feelings of safety and of rightness.
‘Remember Melissa,’ she told herself firmly. ‘And remember how he left you to fend for yourself, how he was more concerned with Enoch than you, even though you had almost been murdered.
‘No, Conor,’ she told herself bitterly. ‘You'll never be first with him.’
Just as she was fully into the fantasy, with Devon leaving the house, tail between his legs, her ears caught a change in tempo to their muted conversation. It wasn’t her Dad’s raised voice as she expected nor was it the slamming of a door.
The men were laughing. Together, over a shared joke. It wasn’t until at least twenty minutes after that she heard the back door close as Devon left the house.
CONOR GOT OUT OF BED early the next morning, having refused to speak to Seamus all of the previous night. She was feeling much more herself, as the rush of yesterday’s anger had set her blood boiling. She was still fuming as she vigorously shampooed her hair, washing all of the illness away.
The kitchen door was open to let in the heat of the fine day, and Conor could hear the ocean softly washing on the rocky beach below.
She poured her coffee without acknowledging Seamus’s presence at the table, but felt his eyes on her as she moved about the kitchen. She hesitated before sitting at the table with him, then plonked herself down and stuck yesterday’s newspaper in front of her face.
It was her house too, and she had every right to sit where she chose. Besides, she paid the bills, didn’t she? Seamus had no right to entertain that man here, especially not after she had made it clear she didn‘t want Devon in the house.
She had to peek, after a while, to check how her disapproval was registering with her father.
Seamus was sitting back in his chair, his eyes on her. Waiting.
Conor quickly hid behind the paper again. Her coffee was getting cold, and Seamus wasn’t moving. She could feel his determined eyes boring into the back of the newspaper. With a sigh, she threw the paper onto the table and met his gaze firmly.
‘You had no right to keep talking with him.’ she informed him with a touch of haughtiness. ‘Not after I had specifically requested that he leave.’
Her Dad smiled at her in return and continued patiently with his silence.
‘I’m serious, Dad,’ she scolded him. ‘You don't know what he’s like. He’s bad news.
‘For me.’ she continued in a small voice.
Seamus shook his head, still smiling. At last he spoke.
‘Have you wondered, at all, what Devon was doing at the base that night?’ he asked her.
Conor dropped her eyes, reddening just a little. At the time, she had feverishly assumed that Devon had psychically sensed her danger and come running to rescue her. She had dropped that notion as soon as he had dropped her, more concerned about crazy old Enoch than herself.
‘Just after you left that night, he came here looking for you,’ Seamus continued. ‘I was just on my way to bed, but I let him in. We had a wee drop together.’
She remembered seeing the two glasses on the table that night and feeling sorry for herself and her aloneness. She had been feeling extremely low at that point, but hadn’t wondered just who Seamus had been entertaining in her absence.
‘He really wanted to speak with you,’ Seamus said. ‘Seeing's how you‘d ignored him completely at the opening and apparently left a nasty message on his answering machine.
‘We got to chatting, as I’m wont to do,’ Seamus reminisced as he placed his elbows on the table. He was speaking to her, but his eye was looking past her, through the window by the door. ‘He told me some things.’
Conor felt something drop inside her. Oh, please, she prayed. Devon had no business discussing the fact that she'd spent a night with him, not with her father! She felt a blush grow crimson on her face.
‘What did he say?’ she asked in a low voice, staring intently at the newspaper on the table before her.
‘He spoke of many things,’ Seamus said,
smiling dreamily. ‘But the thing that stands out is when he asked how I’d feel about having him as a son-in-law.’
Conor‘s head shot up and she stared at her father with disbelief.
‘What?’ she asked incredulously. She told herself that her rapid heart-beat came from outrage, that her breath was quickening in anger at Devon's arrogant presumption.
‘But - but he should never have said anything like that to you.’ she said coldly to cover her confusion. She stiffened her back and added, ‘If he had anything to say, he should have said it to me.’
‘But you weren't talking to me,’ a deep voice pointed out. She whirled around in her chair to see Devon at the open doorway. He smiled in the early morning sunlight, his blue eyes crinkling as the love shone out.
HE TOOK HER HAND as they walked through the field. The renovations had already begun and the base was no longer silent. Pick-up trucks were parked in front of the houses, and the buildings themselves were filled with the sound of hammers and electric drills. Seeing the place now in the daylight, that night seemed so long ago.
‘So much has happened in so few days,’ she murmured. She looked around. ‘This is really ours now, eh?’
‘Not ours, so much as the corporation's,’ he reminded her. ‘We'll just be the on the Board of Directors.’
‘Always saw myself at the head of a corporation,’ she said, thinking aloud. ‘Didn't think it would be a non-profit one, though.’
‘What happened with the Lambs?’ she asked, getting back to the subject foremost in her mind.
‘Enoch has been sent away to St. John’s for a while,’ he replied. ‘He‘ll probably need an extended stay at the Psychiatric Institute.’