Nothing except him. The man standing before her had sheathed his sword, had turned around to face her, triumph in his steel, blue eyes, and had nodded an affirmation to her that all was now well.
They had returned to the physical world within the hotel room, but she had kept her eyes closed, not wanting to pull her lips from his. And for several seconds, though he could have, he hadn’t pulled away either. When he finally had, she had opened her eyes to see his cheeks rather blush; she had guessed hers had been as well. “I think we’re good now,” he had said with an embarrassed smile.
The time afterward had been the most amazing for her in what seemed like forever, for she had slept deeply, with no nightmares. At first, they had spent a few minutes talking about casual, unimportant things, but it hadn’t taken long for Michael to switch off the light. She would have fallen asleep immediately, having been completely drained, but after the two weeks of pain and struggle she had suffered, she had felt no meekness or hesitation when she slipped out of her bed and into his.
Presently, Megan felt giddiness overcome her as she recalled that he hadn’t protested when she did this. Instead, he had slipped his arm under her waist and pulled her body close to his in the darkness of the hotel room. There had been no more kissing. They had shared no passionate pleasures or intimacies, only the bed. All he had done was hold her, keeping her safe. And this experience had been more pleasant to her than any activity that most couples engage in while in bed together. She hadn’t desired passion anyway, only sleep. And she indulged in what was the best sleep in ages. Food is more delicious when you’re starving, water more refreshing when you’re parched, sleep more revitalizing when you’re exhausted.
It wasn’t until sometime after 11:00 in the morning when she had awoken, half expecting to see him up and about, getting ready for the day’s journey. Instead she had felt her head resting softly on his chest, her long, dark blonde hair blanketing his bare pectoral muscles. She had raised up enough to see him already awake, staring peacefully at the ceiling, and her stirring had brought his eyes to meet hers. “Morning, darlin’,” he had greeted her with a warm smile.
She had badly wanted to kiss him, but mornings after a restful sleep tend to bring the mind back to rationalities that induce reservations from bold behavior, when nights after a long day leave it too tired for mental guards, usually causing a carefree, “what-the-hell” kind of mentality. So hesitation stayed her desire, but she had lowered her head back onto his chest asking if they could just stay in that moment forever.
“I can do a lot of cool things, Megan,” he had replied. “Unfortunately, freezing time isn’t one of them.” She had given him a quick, odd glance, remembering that was what she had secretly wished for the night before in that serene moment when he held her. Probably more of the mental connection, she had determined, but she hadn’t felt the need to mention it.
He had raised his arm to check his watch. “We’re already running behind schedule, and we’ve stayed much later than we should have. The authorities will be looking for us, so we need to get going.”
Already she had regretted her hesitation as he had nudged her gently, motioning her off him so he could get up. There had been no conversing between them as they had busied themselves with packing their things, and throughout their morning routine, up until the point when they had shared the bathroom sink brushing their teeth, she had felt an incompleteness within their stay in the hotel room. Perhaps the feeling had sparked within her as she helplessly and continuously stared at his perfectly lean and muscular figure, having worn only his gray sweat pants to bed, without an ounce of fat from his exposed hips to his neck. Her life in the past couple of weeks had little to show for itself other than turmoil and tragedy. She had been damaged and abused in all manners of body and soul, and now that she had been on the mend to a life renewed, she decided that she had a right to compensation for all she had lost. She had earned that much.
So, when Michael had asked her if she minded if he used the shower first, she had forced rationality from her mind, refusing to allow hesitation to stay her any longer.
When she hadn’t answered his question, Michael turned toward her, and he had suddenly dropped his jaw, not noticing his own toothbrush fall from his mouth; she had removed her bedclothes, facing away from him, standing naked with only her silky hair covering her smooth back and shoulders, leaving exposed buttocks, hamstrings, and calf muscles that put an athlete’s to shame. She had turned her head slightly, her peripheral vision leaving her secretly satisfied when she had realized her boldness had left him petrified with uncertainty. With all of his mysterious powers, there was one magical quality she had that he could never match.
“Since we’re behind schedule,” she had finally answered with the most seductive voice she could manage, “we can save a little time if we share the shower, don’t you think?”
Reflecting on these moments now that they were on the road, Megan hadn’t realized that, during this brief silence in the truck, Michael’s thoughts were simultaneously drawn to those same moments. Whether it was coincidence or that they still shared a wisp of the connection, they would never know. He remembered seeing her body the night before, cowering behind the sacrificial altar after he had lain waste to her devil worshiping abductors. Even though she had been bloodied and covered with filth and dried sweat, he had still found her stunningly beautiful. Earlier that morning, now that she had been in a more presentable physical condition, he had no method for describing her appearance, even if he had been blessed with the poetic skill of a dozen Shakespeares.
As she had slipped into the shower and turned on the water, he had felt like an idiot standing there with the foam of toothpaste drooling from his gaping mouth. Most of the time, he felt sure of himself in all situations life had thrown at him. Since his time spent with this young woman, on more than one occasion, had he lost that sureness. Each time she had helped him find it again, and in turn he had helped her recover from her physical, emotional, and psychological wounds. Once again he had felt that dumbfounded inability to know what to do, and once again she had some involvement with his plight.
If Jiminy Cricket, the fabled creature of conscious himself had been on his shoulder, he would have been whacking him on the back of his head with his miniature umbrella and screaming at him to move his stupid ass and go to her, but now it had been he who suffered from hesitation. Thoughts of the past had stayed his actions, not because of guilt; the past was dead, and knowing those he had lost, they would have wanted him to live a happy life. It was because of a sudden fear of such happiness. In that short time, that he too had felt to have developed a lifetime of comfort and connection with the young woman before him, he knew that he could find that kind of happiness with her.
But with that happiness would also come a smothering of the drive he had to continue on his self-appointed mission to stop the growing evil that had robbed him of so much. With that happiness, would come a very likely risk that he would eventually let his guard down, being blinded by a blissful life, unprepared for the certain retaliation that would come knocking on his door. And when it would come, it would happen when he would be weakened, his senses numbed, by the things that brought him that happiness. Like it had done once before.
The pain of the past fueled his drive, even gave him the strength to do what was necessary for the greater good, so that others would never have to suffer the way he had. If Bruce Wayne had ever found true love, would the loss of his parents still motivate him into his masked alter ego? Or would he hang up his cape and utility belt, and let crime have its way in Gotham?
Yet the woman awaiting him in the shower hadn’t asked him for his life, hadn’t demanded he leave his path for one filled with blinding joy. He had now considered what she had gone through, how much she had taken from her, by the same people who had stolen from him. Both of them now joined together in the aftermath of their destruction, united because of their destruction. He hadn’t forgotten that he wa
s indirectly responsible for all the pain and suffering she had faced by their hands. Even so, she had forgiven him, though he felt he didn’t deserve it. Now all she had wanted in return was one moment. One bit of heaven after the long, uphill climb out of hell.
Still without speech, Michael had breathed in deeply, had undressed, and had finally found his feet again as he followed Megan into the shower stall. His stare unable to choose between her lovely green eyes or her incredibly firm legs.
She had wanted him, and he her, yet he would not take her. The moment did not require such a commitment. Like the early morning after he had removed her curse, all that had been needed to perfect the moment was a less primitive intimacy, one in which they had held each other close as the massaging stream of warm water rained down upon their skin. They had separated shortly to wash and rinse themselves, but then resumed the much-desired caressing that had seemed to energize their souls, having given them the strength they would need to face the day that had awaited them outside the motel. And though the sensation of arms wrapped around each other, with bare skin against bare skin, was enough to satisfy their need for human bonding, desire had refused to be left completely denied, and as he turned the water off, they had remained in the enclosed stall, sharing a lengthy, deeply passionate kiss that lasted for several minutes.
The moment had ended with her head pressed against his shoulder as he had held her tightly, eyes closed, secretly praying for only good things to fall upon this woman that he had suddenly wished he could hang up his cape for.
Again, a long silence had fallen between them as they had resumed preparing for their departure, but it had been a welcomed one with which no awkwardness accompanied. Still, a sadness had entered Megan’s heart as she had taken one last look around in the soon-to-be empty motel room minutes before they would exit through the door. It would always be known to her as a special place where she and Michael had found sanctuary in each other’s arms, having formed a strong companionship in the span of one night’s stay, in a moment that she would forever cherish, yet she couldn’t shake the thought of the likelihood that such a moment would never again be repeated between them. She had supposed that, on the bright side, this would only make it more memorable for her, but the melancholy still lingered upon the understanding that a moment would never again be better than this, and that the day couldn’t have started off more perfectly.
Until Michael had suggested they grab two large coffees to go at the closest doughnut shop on their way out. Now it had been perfect.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Michael chimed in after several minutes had gone by since the bantering between them.
As much as she adored him, she had to stifle a small sensation of irritableness. She was quite content reliving the morning she had had with him in her head, and his voice brought her out of it like an alarm clock blaring in her ears on a day when she would prefer to sleep in. But she quickly understood the irrationality of her irritation and kept a light tone. “Can’t read my mind anymore?”
“Don’t know,” he said. “Tell me what you’re thinking and I’ll confirm if I still can.”
She would have rather poured lemon juice on a severe papercut than reveal where her mind had been dwelling just then. “Well, I was… just thinking about all the questions I have. You know, about you. And them.”
“Yeah,” Michael remarked after a couple beats. “It’s a lot to take in, I know. Hard to know where to start.”
“Yeah,” she repeated.
“Ask anything that comes to mind, Megan,” he said. “I promised I’d tell you what you want to know.”
“Okay,” she began, struggling to think. “I guess I should start at the beginning.”
“A very good place to start,” he chimed.
“Sound of Music,” Megan answered immediately with a short laugh. “I did see that one.”
Michael gave her a sarcastic thumbs-up.
She ignored his gesture. “So, how did you find out about me? I mean, you took my necklace so you could track me. But how did you know they were going to take me?”
“I had help,” he answered, “from an old friend…”
Chapter IV
In the state of West Virginia, and far west from the charcoal Chevy Silverado that was currently making its way farther still, Barbara Mitchell, once Barbara Garrett, sat on a white wicker chair, nestled close to her front door, on her porch. She was sipping methodically on a cup of lemon tea she had brewed for herself, not quite enjoying the warm, bright afternoon with its gentle breeze and local songbirds keeping her company. She was too lost in thought to notice any of those simple pleasures at all.
Having accumulated some seniority from her years employed at the nearby nursing center, she had been able to finagle her schedule ahead of time, ensuring she would have this particular Wednesday off. She had known long in advance that she would not be sleeping much at all the night before, and she hadn’t needed her gift of foresight to determine that.
The pinnacle of the new moon, the fifth to occur during this Dark Year, had passed, and Barbara had spent much of the twilight hours deep in meditation. Her visions did not come clearly, but she had gotten the gist of the outcome. The Agents of Shadow did not complete the Cycle. Michael, her friend, succeeded in what he had set out to do. God help him. God help her and Moonie as well. Michael had crippled the Agency severely, but this instilled in her more anxiety instead of comfort. Because she had reluctantly aided him in his personal crusade, she feared that she and her two surviving faction mates would fail to avoid the inevitable surge of destruction from the floodgates he had opened.
Since the afternoon he had visited her almost a month ago, she never stopped questioning her decision to involve herself with the whole thing, even if her role in his plan was a mere finger-point in the right direction. By offering even the slightest assistance, she had risked exposing herself.
If you so much as lift a finger to meddle in our affairs ever again, we will know. And we will come for your son. There will be nowhere that you can hide from us, Ms. Garrett.
That was the last email she had received from the Agency over three years ago. Shortly after she had finished reading it, it disappeared from her inbox, as if it had never been drafted in the first place. But she never forgot one word of it.
Yet when Michael came to her, she willed herself to disobey them. She had told herself it was for the greater good, that it was out of “duty and obligation,” two abstract nouns often repeated in the Code of the White. But as soon as Michael had walked out her door, she had been filled with an apprehension that never quelled. In truth, she hadn’t been sleeping much any night since then. Since that fateful afternoon when he stood before her beside her car, as she held her sleeping boy in her arms, and asked for her help. One month ago…
****
…“I need your help, Babs. I wouldn’t have come to you if I didn’t.”
“My help?” Barbara raised her eyebrows innocently, though she knew where he was going with this. “With what?”
“You already know what,” he answered quickly.
Barbara lowered her head, remembering she could never get away with anything with him.
“You know it’s happening again,” he continued. “I won’t say it out here. I shouldn’t have to.”
There was a mild breeze rustling through the branches and in between the houses of the quiet street. If any birds or other neighborhood animals were orchestrating their natural noises, they were unusually silenced. Only the wind confirmed that time was not standing still in this tense moment. “You know we agreed to never contact each other again. We made a pact, don’t you remember?”
“I know,” he admitted softly. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to though. I never wanted to agree to it in the first place.”
“But you did,” she cut him off. “We all did.”
“Yeah,” he said with no emotion, though she could feel his sadness. “I didn’t want to, but I understood. It was for
the best. It was… safer… or so we thought.” He spoke like a man who had been stripped of all things dear to him, a man who was defeated and tired, a man who was lost. His voice lacked the carefree boyish charm and love for life that she thought he would never run out of… back when she knew him well. Life had certainly changed his demeanor, as it had hers.
“It is safer Michael,” Barbara replied, with a few short grunts as she pulled Ethan from his seat. “Maybe not as safe as we had hoped, but it’s the only option we have.” She pulled herself slowly out of the car, turning to face him again. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
The little boy was fast asleep in her arms. His head was laying peacefully on her left shoulder. The man, who was staring blankly at nothing, now fixed his gaze on the boy. “Ethan, right?” he asked.
“That’s right,” she confirmed. “Just turned four.”
“He’s adorable. He looks like you. Does he have your eyes?”
“No, his eyes are hazel… like Glenn’s.”
Michael forced another weak smile. “I’ve yet to meet anyone with brown eyes like yours. It isn’t a shame that they weren’t passed down to him. Just means they remain one of a kind.”
Barbara knew where he was going with this. He was clearly trying to be vague, but she easily picked up on the allusion he was making about one of many pleasant memories of their friendship from the past. She didn’t want to go back there, but she couldn’t help but to give into that old routine they used to engage in out of playfulness. “Do you remember when…” she prompted.
The Paladin's Redemption (The Keepers of White Book 3) Page 13