by T. K. Toppin
“You just left me there! How could you?” I screeched, venting my betrayal, my pent up hurt.
“I know. I know.” Lorcan roughly dragged his hands over his face. “It was cruel of me. I’m so sorry, Josie. I had no choice. I thought—decided—it was best if I just disappeared. Cut all ties and vanish. I did it to save you.”
“You fucking bastard! How could you even think to do such a thing? Saving your own sorry ass. What about mine? You just left me!”
Despite my outburst, my tears, Lorcan pressed on. He said he’d chosen to remain quiet, and hoped I was being treated well, and that I’d hold my tongue. When he was forcefully returned to England, Ho had kept insisting I was a loose end and had been exposed to the activities they were involved in—whether I knew it or not. I needed to die.
The momentum picked up with the cancellation of the Three Sisters Amphitheatre opening, which The Path expected after I was taken into custody. Ho was livid. He had skillfully arranged to have Lorcan’s company design a part of the Amphitheatre’s outer structures, and Lorcan had been creating a special weapon for the spires, which would fire simultaneously, assassinating the three speakers at once. They had invested so much time and energy, and now, in a strange twist of fate, it was over—all because of me.
At first, Lorcan was opposed to killing, to outright murder. But when they spoke of Max, it had put cold fear into him. He did as he was told. It was too late. He was in too deep. On hearing of Ho’s attempts to silence me, he made a decision. He’d find out who ran The Path and destroy them. He had several leads to follow.
The suicide bomber’s failed attempt had lightened his heart only by a fraction. He knew, at least, I was alive—for now. But the next time I might not be so lucky. First, he needed to get Max to safety. He sent him to Scotland; from there they carried out a long-rehearsed escape route. Yes, Max knew. He knew everything.
From Scotland, Max would go to Ireland, then back home, hopefully confusing any who followed. Each time he was to use a different name and guise. Then it was up to Max to find a way to get to Bali and send word. Lorcan knew several trusted people skilled in the business of erasing identities, so he put the plan into action. And that was how he was here now, under the guise of work, and Max was safe.
Whatever happened next would simply have to happen. And he also knew who the leader of The Path was.
Racking tears blinded me. I had dropped straight into a nightmare. The world had lost its surface and I was falling into an abyss. As I listened to his story, extreme emotions punched me one way, and then another. From my mouth, babbling words spewed. I went from hating him, to caring for him and back again like a seesaw. But throughout it all, I believed him.
“Stop, Lorcan. Please. Just give yourself up. Hide…anything! Just get away from these people.” I begged him, pleading.
Lorcan shook his head, refusing to listen to me. Instead, he held me tight while I fought through my tears and anguish. His familiar scent scorched a throbbing ache of emotion inside me. It shamed me that I ever doubted him, for feeling betrayed by him.
“Let’s run away together. We’ll find Max, live somewhere far away and safe.”
“No, Josie. We can’t do that.” He gripped me tighter, and I felt his body tremble, as if he controlled a wave of his own tears. “I’m a bad person, Josie. Very bad.”
Sucking in a breath, Lorcan pushed me away. “You’re safe where you are.” His tone changed, losing all emotion. Militant. “So long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters. Just forget about me and start a new life.”
“No. What are you saying?”
“Forget me, Josie. Just go.” Lorcan pushed me away, prying my fingers from his arms, his shirt, his face. “Let me finish this. Let me stop these people from hurting you. Now go.”
I wailed. “Let me help you then. I can…I can learn to fight, join you. You could even…I mean, you could ask John to help you; he’ll protect you too. Come back to the Citadel with me. Come back and—”
“Shut it! Just stop!” Lorcan’s face turned ugly as he shouted. “You’re talking madness, girl. Just, enough, now. Get out of here!”
I recoiled. The world spun. It tipped and tilted. My mind only caught glimpses of reality, of the two of us standing, screaming out in the night. Of John and Simon at the edges of my vision. And still the world spun crazily.
Hysteria. Madness. I sensed their seductive fingers stroking me. Caressing me.
I knew the edges of my sanity were eroding away, and saw the events of my life whirling past my eyes. Everything I’d known and held dear and close, vanishing, crumbling away like dust and being carried away by a cruel wind. I could scarcely breathe or hear myself, could barely see.
Lorcan kept talking, saying he was wrong about John, that he was a good man, a much better man than he ever could be. He insisted I’d be safe, just so long as I stayed with John. Would I please stay with John and just forget all about him?
How could I? Did I say it out loud? Reality blurred like a dream where I was a participant as well as an observer. My mouth moved, my throat worked the words, but I heard them only in my head, which spun and spun.
Knowing the full truth as I did now, how could I possibly abandon Lorcan? We must’ve argued some more, we must have, because I remember hitting his chest hard, and his hand gripping my wrist. And still he spoke words that filled me like a never-ending flow of water. Drowning me with information.
Finally, Lorcan shoved me away. Firm and angry, like I was a disobedient child. Then he told me, very gently, how much he loved me and would never forget me. He winked, and I broke down, falling to my knees in misery and anguish. I called out his name, the only word I seemed able to form, but he vanished into the black night without a backward glance.
John was next to me in an instant, scooping me up. Dazed, numb, I ached somewhere deep inside and clung to him in desperation. Terror gripped me, hard and fierce. It hurt. He carried me back to the airlift, the movement cooling my heated face. I knew my fall into the abyss was imminent, so I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close. Words still came with some coherence; they sounded right, even in my chaotic state. I made him promise me he’d never harm Lorcan. He agreed, though it clearly upset him to do so. John looked as pained as I felt.
Once we were safely inside, the shuttle silently launched into the black, humid night. I sat cradled in John’s lap as he comforted me with small and indistinct murmurs, his lips close to my ear. Only then did I feel safe. Lorcan was right. I would be safe with John.
Very safe.
I whispered hoarsely, in case my tormented mind forgot, that the name John sought, the man behind all this madness; his name was Uron Koh.
* * *
John wanted to kill Wellesley on the spot for causing Josie such pain.
He and Simon watched from the shadows, catching random words as their conversation pitched and spiked amid the creaking, twisting branches, the hushed rustles of the eerie bamboo forest. John wanted nothing more than to push Wellesley off and take Josie far away, but he stood rooted, watching the scene unfold as one would, in morbid fascination, a horrible accident.
Wellesley touched and held her as she pleaded and cried. He cradled her face in his hands and whispered. Josie shook her head, shook all over. They struggled like wrestlers, pushing and pulling, hitting and digging nails into flesh. And then she was on her knees. John didn’t see Wellesley anymore; he saw nothing but Josie, and was already running the distance to get to her.
He vaguely heard Simon shouting, darting off to the side and running into the shadows. John’s attention was riveted on Josie. She looked crumpled and broken, sitting on the thick carpet of bamboo leaves, wailing mournfully.
When he clutched her close, she felt weightless and empty. She hung limp in his arms. Then, as if crawling out of a terrifying dream, she grabbed at him viciously, as though desperate to crawl into something that could hide her from the madness.
She spoke to him, he replied, s
he made him promise, and he agreed.
Josie continued to cry, pitifully wailing about wanting to die, where she was, who she was, what her name was. She was losing her mind.
In the shuttle, she finally fell silent as they neared Switzerland, a dead weight in his lap. John spoke to her about nothing in particular, but she stared off into space. Dawn crept across the continent, the first wash of gray light filtering into the shuttle, casting a dull and cold shroud on everything. Josie’s face seemed to merge with the light, the color no different from her surroundings. Her eyes had gone flat and vacant, a glassy and watery green staring out into a world only she saw. John thought for a moment that maybe she had, in fact, died.
* * *
Something died, somewhere deep inside me. I don’t know what it was, didn’t even know it was there in the first place that it could die. For a moment, I thought of nothing, felt nothing, heard or saw nothing. My mind had gone utterly blank. The only thing I knew with clear certainty, was that wherever I was now, I was safe.
I felt primitive and exposed. Raw. But I knew I could hide here without any fear. That I’d find sleep, rest, and be comforted, knowing that the sounds, smells, and sights meant me no harm. I knew the man who held me; he was very familiar. He was someone who had been there from the very beginning. Yet I couldn’t remember his name, his…identity. I’d never seen him before, but I recognized his face, his smell, touch. His presence.
Maybe I’d only dreamt of him; I couldn’t be sure. I wasn’t sure who I was, either. Deep down, I knew my mind had broken. Or was it someplace else? Something else?
Whatever it was, I heard it break, clean and clear as the breaking of glass. With the break, I felt an essence escaping from me, like uncorking a bottle of wine to let it breathe. It smelled of fear, of doubt, and the insurmountable weight of grief and pain. For a moment, I thought maybe I could actually see the curling wisps wafting through the gray light. Maybe. Maybe not.
Maybe if I looked close enough, I’d see what was drifting away, emptying me. Draining me from the core so that I couldn’t remember who I was, what I was, or where I was.
Tired. So very tired. I needed to sleep, to close my eyes, knowing that when I woke, I’d feel better.
Everything would be as it should be.
As it always should be.
PART 2 – ALIVE
Chapter 30
Winter in Switzerland is beautiful.
Picture-postcard beautiful.
Winter in a Switzerland with temperature control and snow-break screens, now, that was even better.
December had come. I’d been living in the future for exactly one year and two months. My mood had, at last, lightened, and the gloomy, listless haze I’d been living in for the last three months had all but vanished. I felt refreshed.
The first month, I barely remembered anything, only that I slept a lot, threw things around when people tried to force food down my throat, and hit any who came near. I don’t even remember talking. I’d vaguely heard words being thrown about, like “breakdown” and “mental regression.” Like a wild animal, caged and forced into submission against my will, I grunted and snarled, snapped and lashed out. It was a very liberating time, if only I’d had my full senses to appreciate it. I just remembered being very free, unhindered, and wild. A blissful emotional romp in unfettered abandon.
The next thing I recalled with any clarity was sulking, for days on end. I spoke then, that much I knew, but of what, I forget. I didn’t care either. I cared about absolutely nothing.
At the height of my oblivion, people came and went and tried to lift my spirits. Mrs. Trudesson tried to bribe me with culinary treats, at which I only picked morosely, or licked the sugar crystals off tarts and then threw the pastry against the walls so they left sticky smears like bugs on a windshield. Sometimes she talked about nothing in particular, or tried to play video games with me.
Simon even tried, with his sarcastic sense of humor and brutal honesty, but I didn’t have the motivation to play along. I just stared back. I may have hurt his feelings; I can’t be certain. But he looked very sad, which was so unlike him.
Aline became a good friend. My past mesmerized her, and she’d riddle me with questions. In turn, I seemed able to reply, haltingly, without drifting off into gloom. It was nice to talk about my past, my memories. At least she wasn’t constantly asking how I was, and if I needed anything. It was to her life partner, Rand, I spoke with more. He was very easy to talk to, like an enlightened sage; so like Madge. It tormented me that I was starting to forget what Madge had looked like. Rand kept her spirit alive for me.
In the end, it was John who finally pulled me out of my haze with his constant and unswerving support. His mere presence, the energy he exuded, and even thoughts of him, kept me going. He was attentive, though still cautious, choosing his words with care when he spoke to me. Sometimes he remained by my side, silent, when he sensed a change in my mood. I was no longer afraid of him, and felt completely at ease when he was around. He in turn grew more relaxed and talkative. And when he wasn’t, we’d revert back to what we did best. Argue.
John and I spoke about everything and anything. It was like we’d gone through some trauma, which we had, in a manner of speaking, and come through the other side with many tales to tell that only we could understand. It eased my heart to be able to share with someone who understood. Sometimes we just sat and held hands without realizing we did so. And other times, we picked fights and disagreed—baring teeth and promising bodily harm.
John remained a constant while I recovered from my trauma, rage, and chaotic emotions. Even though my moods tended to tip toward the extremes, and any number of things would set them off, he was always there. Gradually, he stole my heart and dragged me out of the dark pit I’d fallen into. I realized that maybe my heart had always been his for the taking. I didn’t resist.
He was a complex man. Primarily, he was well aware of who he was, his purpose, and what he represented. It was a role assigned to him from birth; his destiny. While his older brother would, and should, have been World President, by the draw of circumstance it fell to John. He knew this and accepted it, and had stepped up to the challenge with determination and understanding. He cared for people, and it showed; not just in how he ruled, but also in the everyday things—from asking the gardener how his mother was, to exchanging small talk with the chef. These were not only people he’d grown up with, but people, everyday people, he represented, who looked up to him for leadership and protection.
And when he wasn’t ruling or being president of an empire, he was just John. A man who laughed when amused; and much amused him. A man who liked to watch movies, though he wouldn’t admit it, and who simply enjoyed talking about nothing in particular—who craved it—while just sitting comfortably at home, relaxed and at ease with the world, scratching himself and burping like any other man.
And he became mine.
I was getting to know him so well. His many expressions. Moods. Quirks. For instance, he hated sprouts and beans, and had an amazing sweet tooth, especially for pastries. He picked with distaste at fish with bones, but swallowed rare steaks almost without chewing. And when he thought no one looked, he chewed on one particular fingernail incessantly, the left ring finger, biting it down to its ragged quick. Sometimes it would bleed after such abuse, and he’d curl his fingers into a fist to hide it.
I grew to admire him, to feel pride in him. And, yes, to love him. He made me forget about everything that had happened, and made it bearable to know it was over. He made me able to look forward to the next day without dread and despair. He made me want to live.
When at last we explored each other’s bodies with an intimacy that nearly shattered my mind all over again, I knew, finally, this was why I had been forgotten for three hundred years. Why I’d suffered agonizing pain, grieved, and longed for the lost. It was for one reason only.
So he could find me and save my life.
Chapter 31
> Josie’s kiss still scorched his lips. John let his eyes drift across her sleeping form, a smile spreading across his face. He’d just got out of bed, ready to start his day, but seemed unable to stop staring at her. Her back was to him since she still favored her right side. He didn’t mind at all, since it meant she faced him while in bed together. His eyes trailed the pink marks of healed cuts along her shoulder. If he didn’t have to leave soon, he would’ve kissed her along her scarred beauty, roused her awake, and taken her once more.
Early winter dawn darkened the room; it would be so for a few more hours. His mind flicked fondly to the previous week, when they first made love. He’d thought he’d died. He very nearly had, and every night since.
She’d been quiet the whole day, brooding. At least she hadn’t kicked anything over, though he did trip over a serving spoon near the front door when he’d dropped by. “It fell,” she’d remarked. The comment made him chuckle. She’d been trying to make grilled chicken, but still found the cooking range confusing since it didn’t recognize her voice commands, let alone all the expletives. It was Mrs. Trudesson’s day off.
The grilled chicken, or what passed for it, had ended up in the recycling chute. They ate jam and cheese sandwiches instead. In silence. Afterward, they sat with wine, talked quietly about nothing in particular, and then, as if something inside her snapped, she kissed him, her mouth practically suffocating him. Aside from affectionate pecks and nuzzles on the cheek, it was the first time they had kissed since that day she’d been in the clinic. But the heat in it inspired him, inflamed him once more, and he all but lost control.