by M. C. Sutton
What a disaster this has all turned out to be.
“I think I’ll go take a hot shower,” he said, knowing that if he fell asleep now there was no way he’d be able to get himself back up for her speech. He kissed her forehead. “Why don’t you try to lie down for a little while and get some rest?”
As Jon started the shower, he heard someone knock and yell “room service.” He was so tired, though, the thought of food just made him feel nauseated.
Jon stood in the steaming shower, his hands against the cool granite walls, enjoying the relaxing sensation of hot water beating against his back. The one thing he could be grateful for through this whole ordeal was that his back wasn’t bothering him. It had been more than twenty years since his accident, but it still acted up every now and then. He remembered absolutely nothing about the wreck, just the conversation he and Emma had had several hours before.
“Hey, baby, what are you doing here?” He’d just stepped down off the stage at the back of Charlie’s bar after she’d walked through the door. “Charlie, how about a beer for my girl?”
Charlie nodded from behind the bar.
“Actually, I can’t stay,” said Emma.
Jon narrowed his eyes. She wore her lucky pack over her shoulder. “You’re leaving again, aren’t you? After everything we talked about this morning?”
“It’s only for a few days. Then I promise I’ll be back. Hurricane Irving is about to make landfall—”
“No, Emmy,” he interrupted. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“But Jon, I have a responsibility.”
“Yeah? And what about your responsibility to me? I told you how I felt about this, Em. I’m not going to wait around for another phone call. What if the next one I get is that you’re dead? I’m not going to live like that.”
“Jon, you don’t understand—”
“No, you don’t understand! You’re being completely selfish.” He wouldn’t normally lash out at her, but he’d had a few drinks. The scare she’d given him a few weeks earlier, with her accident out in the field, didn’t help either.
“No, Jon.” She stepped in closer and put a hand on his cheek. “This is what I want. To stay here with you. But if I do that, I turn my back on everything I know, everything I believe in. This job is who I am. If I walk away from that for what I really want, then I’m being selfish.”
Jon turned his eyes to the floor, not believing what he was about to say. “You leave this time, Emma…” He hesitated, then looked up at her. “And you don’t need to bother coming back.”
He could see from the shock in her eyes that he’d broken her heart. But that was exactly how he felt every time she blew into town and then suddenly took off again: as if a piece of him had shattered and fallen away.
She bit her lip. He knew he was asking her to choose between him and something that was so much a part of her, but he simply couldn’t do this anymore. If something didn’t change soon, they would be split up anyway. Whether she walked out the door now or got herself killed chasing some disaster later. Surely she could see that.
That was the last thing he remembered about that night. He woke up in the ICU several days later.
It’s funny how you can spend twenty-two years doing just fine on your own, then someone suddenly wanders into your life and you just can’t seem to get along without them, he thought as the hot water washed over him. He couldn’t handle the thought of losing her now any more than he could handle it then. It had almost killed him last time. He couldn’t imagine what it would do to him now.
Jon stepped out of the shower, stood in front of the bathroom sink, and wiped the fog off the mirror. He stared at his own reflection, at the dark stubble peppered across his face and the small lines beginning to form at the corners of his eyes. Jon wondered if the man in the mirror was any different than that lost kid standing alone at the bar. He was almost grateful he couldn’t remember the pain of watching as she’d walked out the door. Emma meant everything to him. She was his companion. The mother of his children. They had been through so much together. If she were gone, then a piece of him would go with her.
And that was why Bennett infuriated him. Jon knew his type and the type of people he worked with. They were determined to get what they wanted, no matter who they hurt along the way. Jon thought back to what Bennett had said in the hallway: I’d hate for anything unfortunate to happen to her. He had no doubt in his mind that Bennett would target his wife—that he probably already had targeted her.
The question was… how?
If he could only figure out what Bennett had in mind, maybe he could stop it.
He was almost certain Bennett was a Pusher. That was most likely how he’d managed to get Korvaire drunk enough to take advantage of her. What in the world would he have said to her to get her to act so unlike herself? Luckily the only thing Bennett had said to Emma recently was that she looked like she could use some sleep.
And then it hit him.
Jon grabbed his toiletry bag and dumped its entire contents into the sink in front of him.
The bottle of Ambien was gone.
How could he have been so stupid?
He remembered being grateful that Emma wasn’t on any medications Bennett could use against her. He hadn’t even thought about the sleeping pills. The pills that he himself had asked Sarah to prescribe for her. The ones he had brought, that he had snuck into their bag.
He’d never be able to forgive himself if…
Jon found Emma asleep on the couch, a teacup still in her hand. He sat down on the coffee table and pushed her hair from her face. She breathed softly, her head resting on the arm of the couch.
Jon took the cup from her hand and examined its contents. There was nothing left but a bit of sediment. He set it down next to their uneaten breakfast.
At first he wasn’t sure what to think. It was possible, of course, that she had simply fallen asleep. After all, they were both exhausted. There was one thing he should check before deciding whether he was being paranoid, though. If Bennett were to try to make it look like Emma had accidentally overdosed, that prescription bottle would be somewhere in this room.
He started with all the areas closest to Emma: the coffee table, side tables, the dresser. He rifled through her bag, finding only a bunch of folders and pens, a first aid kit, a flashlight, her cell phone, and her pocketknife. He wondered how she’d gotten the knife past security. Next he moved to the bedside table.
The bottle was in the top drawer, completely empty.
“Emmy!” He sat down on the couch next to her and pulled her into a sitting position. She barely even opened her eyes. “Emma, honey, wake up!”
“What?” she muttered. He had to wrap an arm around her back just to keep her propped up.
“Emma!” He shook her. She opened her eyes a little bit wider this time. “Did you take the rest of these?” He held the pill bottle up in front of her.
“The rest of what?” She squinted at the bottle.
“The sleeping pills, Emma!”
“Jon, I don’t know… I don’t know what you’re…” Her words slurred and trailed off as her body went limp in his arms.
“Emma?” He shook her again. “Emma!”
He laid her back down and ran to the phone, dialing the only number he could remember. “Aaron!” Jon didn’t even wait for him to say hello.
“Jon?”
“Aaron, find the doctor and get over here as fast as possible.”
“Why, what’s wrong?”
“Just hurry, please!” He slammed down the phone.
Jon didn’t think, he just did. He grabbed the salt shaker from their breakfast tray and took it into the bathroom. As he filled one of the plastic hotel cups with water, he held the little glass shaker up to eye level to see how much was in there. Thank goodness it was full.
He unscrewed the cap and dumped the entire thing into the cup of water. Stirring it with his finger, he rushed back to Emma and set it on the table
. Jon pulled her up again, wrapping his arm around her back to support her. Putting his ear up to her lips, he stopped to listen.
She’s still breathing.
He grabbed a trashcan from underneath the side table and set it on the floor in front of her. Please let this work.
“Emmy?” He shook her again. He knew it wasn’t likely that he could wake her up, but he wanted some indication that she was at least slightly responsive. If she was unconscious, what he was about to try would do more harm than good. “Ennaso?” He rubbed her cheek. “Please.”
He bit his lip and waited anxiously for some sign she had heard him.
“Jon?” Her voice was barely audible, and she didn’t open her eyes.
It was enough response for him.
He grabbed the cup of salt water and used the hand that was already behind her back to restrain her in case she tried to fight him. Then he tilted her back slightly, put the cup up to her lips, and tipped the salty liquid into her mouth. The first few drops just ran down the side of her cheek.
Somewhere in her subconscious she must have realized what he was doing, because she began to drink the water. Jon waited till the cup was emptied to the very last drop before setting it down on the coffee table. He pulled Emma upright again. “Come on, baby.”
Just when he was starting to wonder if he hadn’t just given her salt poisoning on top of everything else, she started to cough. He leaned her forward and supported her with one arm under her chest while she emptied the contents of her stomach into the trashcan.
The salt water had done the trick.
CHAPTER 12
“I will have a skinny hazelnut latte with extra foam, please.”
Matt stood behind the register at the small coffee house on campus, where he worked. He stared blankly at the short-haired woman across the counter, squeezed his eyes closed, and tried to blink off the haze. “I’m sorry, Professor Churchill, what was it that you ordered?” He tried hard to focus on what she was saying.
“The same thing I order every morning, dear.” She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. “Matthew, are you all right? You don’t look exactly… well… coherent this morning.”
The truth was Matt wasn’t all right. He hadn’t been “all right” for several months now. The anxiety—the foreboding, as his mother called it—had become so overwhelming lately it affected his everyday life. It wasn’t so bad that it made him sick, like it did his mom. No, never as bad as his mom. It was more like an echo of a feeling. Kind of like the nausea his dad swore he got each time their mom was pregnant with one of them. It was like a sympathy response. Or, in Matt’s case, an Empath response.
Matt continued to stare blankly at Professor Churchill. She scanned the room, as if searching for someone to notify in case he should suddenly pass out or go postal. He wasn’t sure himself which one he was more likely to do. He was just grateful it was still early and there weren’t any other customers in the café yet.
He cleared his throat and tried to focus on the feeling of his hand against the cool granite countertop. He moved his thumb beneath the counter, grasping the edge of it, suddenly feeling like he might faint. It had never been this bad before—usually the feeling faded, or he was able to drown it out through the distractions of school or work. But not this time. This time the sensation washed over him like a wave of dense, suffocating darkness.
Something is wrong.
Then Matt felt a gentle touch on the back of his hand, and the darkness withdrew.
He knew who stood beside him before he even opened his eyes. The instant she had placed her hand on his, he had felt a spark of excitement, a wave of comforting warmth. Alex Romano was the only person in the world who could make him feel like that with a single touch. And because of what Matt was, Alex was also one of the few people outside his own family that he would let touch him at all.
“Hey, are you okay?” she whispered with sweet sincerity.
Matt knew she didn’t even have to ask. Words had become nothing more than a formality between them. A courtesy to the outside world. Alex was a Reader, which meant she knew his thoughts before he could even work out the words to express them. She’d told him once that she wasn’t usually that good at it, but with him, for some reason, it came naturally to her.
“Here you go, Professor Churchill,” said Alex. She handed their English Lit teacher the latte she’d ordered.
Matt knew full well that Alex hadn’t been close enough to them to hear the professor place her order, but he was also certain that Alex had prepared exactly what Churchill asked for. It was both against the Code and dangerous for any of them to use their gifts in public, but the fact that Professor Churchill ordered the same thing every morning was probably cover enough.
Professor Churchill thanked Alex and paid for the coffee. She suggested that Matt get up to the Health Center, since he clearly wasn’t well. Alex promised she would make sure he saw someone.
“Thanks, Lex,” Matt said after Professor Churchill walked out the door. “I owe you one.”
“You’re absolutely right you do. And you’re going to pay me back right now by going straight to Professor March’s office.”
“Alex.” Matt rolled his eyes.
“I mean it, Matia.”
Matt couldn’t help but smile at the familiar Greek term of endearment she had given him years ago. Though he’d heard it around the Romano house plenty of times, Matt still had no idea what it meant. He didn’t need to. Just knowing how she felt when she said it was more than enough.
“Look, Matt, I know you’ve been having a hard time lately—”
Matt opened his mouth to argue.
“And don’t you even try to convince me that you’ve been in to see him lately, because I know you haven’t.”
Matt shut his mouth. He shouldn’t have bothered.
“Hey, and besides,” she added, wrapping a hand around his wrist, “I promised Professor Churchill I’d make sure you talked to someone. Don’t make me break my promise.”
There was a softness in her tone, and the spark in her touch made Matt’s heart skip a beat. He relaxed his shoulders. There wasn’t any point in arguing with her. Though honestly, if he told her that he already felt better, he would be telling the truth. Alex just had that effect on him.
She smiled, wide enough that her blue-gray eyes wrinkled around the corners. He looked down at the floor, realizing that she’d probably “heard” that. Once upon a time that would have made him uncomfortable. But he had come to accept the fact that she knew how he felt about her. She certainly made no attempt to hide her feelings from him.
“You’d better get going if you’re going to go,” she said. Alex grabbed an apron from the wall and pulled it over her black polo shirt and slacks. Matt loved how the dark uniform contrasted with her olive skin. She tied the apron behind her, flipping the bouncy waves of her long black hair over the straps around her neck. For a brief second Matt caught the sweet scent of chamomile and lavender.
Matt glanced toward the kitchen, where their manager was pulling pastries from the oven.
“Don’t worry,” said Alex. “You let me deal with Luke.”
Matt’s smile fell. He noticed the slight elation he got from her whenever she said Luke’s name. “Yeah, okay.” He pulled off his own apron. “As long as you don’t have to agree to go out with him again,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “just for my sake.”
Alex glared. “Well, it’s not like anyone else is asking me.”
Matt stood there with his hand still on the apron he had just hung on the wall. From somewhere in the café he caught the distinctly bitter smell of burnt coffee, like a forgotten pot of decaf someone had left on a little too long.
Alex sighed. “Sorry, Matt, I didn’t mean…”
It was too late. She had gotten defensive, which unfortunately meant he would now be defensive, too. It was better that they just get away from each other before one of them said something they’d regret.
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��Don’t worry about it,” he said, slipping through the swinging door at the end of the counter. “I’ll see you in English Lit.”
He didn’t bother to wait for a response.
Matt didn’t blame her for reacting the way she did. She was right. He had made it clear to her that, despite his feelings, he wasn’t interested in pursuing their relationship. It hadn’t exactly gone over well. He was lucky she still talked to him at all, let alone maintained a friendship. It wasn’t fair of him to expect her not to see someone else.
Maybe it was a good idea to pay Professor March a visit after all. Between worrying about his parents and Alex’s suppressed resentment, Matt felt worse that he had in years. Almost as bad as the day his father’s plane had gone down during the war.
And knowing that was what scared Matt the most.
Though Professor March’s office wasn’t that far from the café, Matt was soon tired and out of breath from the walk. Of course, it had never taken all that much to wear Matt out. Unfortunately, what was kicking his butt that morning wasn’t so much the walk as the heat. Even though it was still early, the sun beat down at a scorching ninety degrees. They had predicted above-average temps for this summer, but this was ridiculous. Matt didn’t need to have a heart condition to be worn out. This kind of weather would make an Olympian pant like a dog.
Professor March’s office was in the same paint-chipped building as his mom’s: the Hopkins School of Arts and Sciences. When Matt walked into Professor March’s office, the professor was standing behind his desk, looking out the window.
“Hello, Matthew,” he said without turning.
“Hello, Professor March.” Matt realized just how long it had been since he had come to see the professor and felt a twinge of guilt.
“Matthew, I’m glad you’re here. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Professor March turned around and walked to the front of his desk, his chocolate loafers clacking against the worn wooden floors. He motioned for Matt to have a seat. Matt sat down, and the professor took the chair next to him.