by Tami Kidd
“Now that sounds like a solid idea, but we should probably stay put.”
Mara pouted and fluttered her brown eyes. “Are you sure? We could be quick.”
Michael placed his hand on her shoulder. “Okay. Why don’t you stay here and rest? I’ll go get what we need.”
“You may need my help to carry all that food.” She managed a weak smile.
He waved his hand as if to brush her idea aside. “I got it. You stay here. Why don’t you lie down? I’ll be back before you know it.”
Mara exhaled deeply. “That’s a great idea. Thanks.” She watched him walk to the door and turn.
“I’ll be back,” he said in his best Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonation.
Mara covered her eyes with her hands and shook her head. She waved him out. After a minute, she moved off the couch, her legs heavy and slow. She suddenly felt old and worn out. Her mother, no matter how old, had looked like an old woman. Life on the farm had aged Hannah Carpenter. The sun made her skin dark and wrinkled like leather. Mara’s heart ached. No matter how old you get, a daughter always needs her mother.
She shook off the melancholy and shuffled into the kitchen with the intention of getting the utensils ready for their meal. Instead, she sat down at the large island. When she tried to cross her legs, her knee hit something sharp underneath. “Ow.” Mara winced and rubbed her knee vigorously to extinguish the pain. Running her hand along the underside of the island, her fingers found a metal object. Hopping off the stool, she muttered, “What the hell?”
Thirty-One
On the underside of the island, Mara found a latch to a small door. She felt her pulse quicken. What could this lead to? Should I look or wait for Michael? Her hand trembled as she reached for the latch. She glanced in both directions. I could take a quick peek and then report to Michael what I find when he gets back. That’s what I’ll do, just a tiny peek. Who knows, it could be a way out.
Feeling the cold hardness of the metal between her fingers, Mara closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She slid the bolt to open the door and peered into the darkness that lay beyond. She stumbled back in alarm and landed on her backside as light inside the opening magically flashed into existence. A set of stairs led down into the unknown. She tried to calm her runaway pulse by inhaling a few deep breaths. Scooting on her rear along the floor until she reached the opening, she extended her legs into the mouth. Gingerly, she put her foot on the first step to test it. Who knows how long the steps have been here? It felt solid. She gripped the handrail and lowered herself to the next step. With her attention focused on each descending step, she repeated the process until she reached the landing.
Her mouth dropped open. Expecting a small storm cellar or panic room, she was astounded to find a large cavernous space with a long corridor that extended well beyond her line of sight. Unable to restrain her curiosity, she advanced down the passageway. Her intuition screamed for her to turn back. As she progressed, the overhead lights automatically engaged, leading her farther from where she had entered.
Up ahead, Mara saw at a simple wooden door, nothing remarkable, but she gazed at it as if she had never seen such a thing in her life. She reached for the knob and jerked her hand back as if it burned her fingers. Hesitating, she closed her eyes and clutched the knob. She stood motionless for several seconds, shaking her head as if to silence the voices within. Whispering, “Now or never,” she swung open the door.
Inside, a large room with brilliant white walls and floors greeted her. To the right, a long counter occupied the entire length of the back wall. Computers, microscopes, strange instruments, and scientific apparatuses lined the workspace. On the left wall, two doors, each with small round portholes at eye level, beckoned her attention. She walked over to the closest door and peered through the window.
The room inside looked like a jail cell, empty except for a cot, a tiny sink, and a toilet. The room was unoccupied. Mara moved to the second cell and inched her face to the porthole. She screamed when a bloody hand slapped the glass in front of her. Jumping back, she fought the urge to run from the room by clinging onto a stool. Again, she inhaled deeply to catch her gasping breaths. Looking back at the glass, the hand was gone, but the bloody outline remained.
With soft steps, she tiptoed back to the glass and peeked around the red imprint. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw a man in a white jumpsuit lying on the cot in a fetal position. Motionless, he faced the wall. His side view revealed a ragged beard and a mop of hair that extended beyond his shoulders and across the thin pillow beneath his head. Mara stepped to the edge of the door away from the window. Her chest heaved. Glancing at the floor, she bit her lip, unsure what to do. Should I open the door? No…I’ll wait for Michael.
Peeking through the window again, she noted how the occupant’s boney shoulders poked against the white jumpsuit. Pale skin stretched tight over his ankles and feet. If it weren’t for the rise and fall of his chest, she might think him a corpse. Swallowing hard, she placed a hand on the door handle, and until that moment, she had not noticed the cipher lock. Only a certain code, unknown to her would open the door. Damn. Now what? Maybe Michael could figure out a way to disassemble the lock. Her heart sank as she checked in on the man again. Watching him through the red smudges, he had turned onto his back. She froze and then covered her mouth in horror. It can’t be! My mind must be playing tricks on me.
The man opened his eyes and raised his head off the pillow. He stared at her with pools of blue, still sharp, still piercing.
No! It can’t be. Mara screamed and fell to her knees, hugging herself with her arms. Hot tears welled inside her lids. She fought to breathe as violent sobs racked her body. Bile rose in her throat, and as if a vise pressed inward, she clasped her head with shaking hands. This can’t be happening. I’m hallucinating.
On wobbly legs, she rose to her feet. Her dead husband’s face greeted her at the window. “Thomas?” Mara murmured. She jerked the door handle with both hands, all the time screaming his name. Jabbing the buttons, she prayed for a miracle. When nothing worked, she looked at him through the window. She could see his mouth moving. He was trying to tell her something, but she couldn’t read his lips. “Wait here, I’ll go get help,” she yelled into the glass. “We’ll get you out.”
Thomas shook his head vigorously, mouthing the words, “No, no, no.”
“I’ll be right back, I can get someone stronger who—”
“No.” Shaking his head again, he held up his bloody hand and started forming signs with his fingers. To Mara it looked like sign language until she realized he was showing her numbers. She concentrated on his fingers. “Seven, two, nine, zero.”
He shook his head again and repeated the numbers.
“Zero, seven, two, nine.” Stunned, Mara immediately recognized the numbers, as her birthday. “The combination is my birthday?”
“Yes,” he mouthed, nodding his head and smiling.
On the third attempt, Mara finally entered the code correctly. Her hands shook as her mind barely focused on the task. Finally, she heard a click. She pulled it open and reached out to touch his bearded face. “Is it really you? I thought you were dead,” she said through cascading tears.
“Yes, it’s me,” he whispered and pulled her into his frail arms. He pressed her head into his chest and kissed the top of her hair. Tears rained from his eyes onto her head.
“But I saw you lying on that gurney. I touched your lifeless body. I buried you.” Her tears soaked his chest.
“I’m so sorry, Baby. It wasn’t me. It was someone they made to look like me.”
“Who? Why would they do that? Why are you here?”
“I’ll explain everything, but first let’s sit you down before you collapse.” They walked to the other side of the lab where he pulled a chair away from one of the workstations and gently coaxed her onto it. “Here sit.” Retrieving a stool, he sat across from her. A smile raised his bearded wet cheeks.
Mara took
his bloody hand. “What happened? You’re still bleeding.”
“It’s nothing. I was being stupid. I thought you were someone else.”
“Well, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Mara whispered. “What’s going on here?”
Taking a towel from the counter and wrapping his hand, he said, “Baby, it’s a long story, but the short version is Dr. Foster faked my death, brought me here, and has been using me as a lab rat.”
“What? Dr. Foster is a prisoner here like you. How can she be using you? You must mean Duncan.”
“No. She’s been injecting me with the serum she discovered.”
“But what does she hope to prove by injecting a healthy person with the serum?” Thomas’s eyes focused on her small, delicate hands, supple compared to his skeletal digits. She knew the look. “What is it?” she urged.
“I had been diagnosed with cancer and wanted to tell you but couldn’t. Then all hell broke loose.”
Mara felt her eyes widen with his admission. She opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her.
“I confided in Jess—Dr. Foster. I wanted to get her advice on how to break the news to you. I am sorry. I should have told you.”
“And now?”
“I’m cured.”
“So, it’s true. She found a cure for cancer.”
“Yes. She cured herself before she ever showed up in Riverside. By the time we got involved, she was working on research and development. She needed our help to secure the cure’s location.”
“Whose help?”
“The Army, Nathan Bradford, and myself.”
“Nathan. Oh my God. Nathan knew about the cure. Did he know you were being held against your will?”
“He knew about the cure, but he didn’t know what she had done to me. He is just as in the dark as you are.”
Anguish covered Mara’s face. “You don’t know what happened to Nathan do you?”
“No. What happened?”
Mara gazed into his deep-blue eyes. “He died in a car accident. They said he was drinking.” She watched the emotion in his eyes change from stricken to furious.
“That’s bullshit. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol in over twenty years.”
“That’s what I thought too, but I recently found out there are people who desperately want the serum and will stop at nothing to obtain it. Even murder. I was told you might have been murdered because of it.”
He kissed her hands. “I’m so sorry. You must have gone through hell.”
“I was devastated when you—”
Thomas placed his fingers over her lips, “Shush, I’m here now, it’s over.”
Mara caressed his bearded face, the sensation foreign to her touch. In all their years together, he had been clean-shaven. Military through and through. At least those blue eyes haven’t changed one bit. As soon as the thought entered her mind, she knew it wasn’t true. Pain etched his blue eyes, now mere imitations of the originals.
He pulled her hands from his face. “There’s something else.” He paused. “I know about you and Alex Strange.”
Mara felt the blood drain from her face. “How—”
Before she could utter another word, he said, “I don’t blame you. You thought I was dead. You moved on, which is what I would have wanted.”
“Thomas. All the years we were married, you were the only man in my life. The only man I ever wanted. You were the love of my life and—”
“I know. I know,” he reassured her. “I never wanted you to sit around mourning my death. I wanted you to get on with your life. I want you to be happy.”
“I want her to be happy too,” Michael interrupted, “but for now we’d better concentrate on keeping her alive.”
Mara and Thomas spun around to see Michael standing in the doorway. He stepped into the lab.
Thomas jumped to his feet, blocking Mara. “Who are you?”
“It’s okay. He’s one of the good guys,” Mara said as she hooked elbows with Thomas.
Holding his hands up in a non-threatening gesture, Michael said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Michael Porter and I’m…well, for now, trying to find a way out of here.” Focusing on Mara, he said, “When I came back, you were gone. The entry door underneath the island was left open, so I came down.”
“Michael Porter, this is Thomas Byrne, my husband.”
“So, you’re not dead after all. How is that?” Michael’s eyes narrowed on Thomas.
Feeling the tension mount between the two men, Mara said, “You’re not going to believe what’s been going on down here.”
“Sounds like we have a lot to discuss.” Michael stepped aside to wave them toward the exit. “Let’s head upstairs.”
Mara felt the muscles in Thomas’s arm stiffen. She glanced at him, his blue eyes flared. Turning to Michael, she said, “You go ahead, we’ll be right up.”
Michael shrugged and left the room. When Mara suspected he was out of earshot, she turned to Thomas. “What’s the matter? Why were you looking at him that way?”
“I guess over the past year, my trust in people has dwindled. I’m sure you can understand why.”
“I do understand, but I trust him. He works for the president and has done everything in his power to watch out for me.”
“I don’t care if he is the president. I found out the hard way that the people you thought you could trust are the ones who will stab you in the back first.”
“Are you referring to Dr. Foster…or to me?”
“Let’s just get out of here. I’m sick to death of this place.” He walked away without looking back.
The brick in Mara’s stomach flip-flopped. Thomas never asked her why she was here or where those keeping him locked up had gone. Nor did he ask about Dr. Foster, Jessica, as he called her. Perhaps his words rang true: the people you thought you could trust are the ones who will stab you in the back first.
Thirty-Two
Discovering her dead husband was alive two years after his funeral, proved too much for Mara. She could not touch her food. Across the table, Michael heartily ate the meal he had prepared. On her right, Thomas sat without uttering a word. The answer to the question she posed earlier to him had gone unanswered. She continued to study his features, trying to read his thoughts. His thin stony face revealed nothing. Recognizing his desires and feelings used to be easy to decipher, but now she felt out of touch. Although, blood coursed through his veins, death hovered over him like a shroud. His hollow eyes no longer burned with life. The husband she had grown to know vanished, replaced by the shell of a man sitting before her.
Mara considered his perspective. After being ripped from his home, his life, and his wife, and then thrown into a cell and used as a guinea pig, the anger festering inside him must have reached a boiling point. During that time, he discovered his wife had begun a relationship with another man. I’d probably be pissed too.
“How did you find out about Alex?” Mara asked barely above a whisper.
“Can we not talk about this now?” Thomas turned his gaze toward Michael.
“Well, that was a good meal.” Michael wiped his mouth with his napkin and placed it on his plate. “I’m stuffed. Maybe I’ll take a walk around the perimeter to see if there are any signs of Duncan and his men.”
Mara watched him walk out the door, before she turned to Thomas. She exhaled. “Look, I know you have a problem with me and Alex. You’ve been through a lot and have every right to be angry, but—”
“You’re wrong. I don’t have a problem with you. I have a problem with Strange. He knew you were vulnerable, but he couldn’t restrain himself long enough for you to finish grieving.”
“No, no, that’s not fair. Several months passed when I found Dr. Foster’s letter. It seemed like an eternity. After we found the answers regarding it, Alex gave me all the space I needed to figure out my feelings. A year had passed before I went to him. I analyzed my feelings. I wanted to be sure what I felt was real and not something c
reated by the intensity of the situation. Being away from him made me realize I couldn’t live without him. We’ve been together ever since, until now.”
Thomas’s brows pulled together. “What letter?”
“After the funeral, I entered a deep depression. I ignored my writing. Lucia did her best to pull me out of it, but nothing helped. One night I realized you wouldn’t want me to spend the rest of my life grieving. So, the next day I started going through your things.” Mara brought her fingers to her lips. “Sorry, I got rid of all your stuff and sold the house.”
“Wow, you were making a new start, huh?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Go on about the letter,” Thomas said waving it off.
“Well, when I was going through your things, I found keys to a safety deposit box, which led me to a letter to you from another woman.”
“You mean the letter from Rebecca Kincaid.”
“Yes. At the time, I had no idea it was a fake and that it was from Dr. Foster.”
“What did you do?”
I hired a private detective to help me find Rebecca Kincaid.”
“You hired Alex Strange.”
“Curiosity led me to his business, because he shared the same name as my character. Remember?”
“Wrong sex though,” Thomas growled. “Why didn’t you just let it go? Finding her wasn’t going to do you any good.”
“I had to. We had such a good marriage. I couldn’t believe you would have ever cheated on me. I had to know for sure.”
“Then you found out the letter was a cover-up to hide information about the cure,” Thomas said.
“Dr. Foster burned the original letter without telling us the secrets it contained. She assured me your relationship with her was purely professional, so I didn’t want or need to know more. I wanted to get on with my life.”
Thomas looked down at his hands. “I don’t blame you for moving on. I really don’t. I guess I’m just going to have to get used to seeing you with another man.”
“What?”