Archetype

by M. D. Waters

  “Thanks. I guess.”

  “How old are you?”

  I straightened my spine and looked him in the eyes, which I had to admit were truly a beautiful color. “Seventeen.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Legal soon, I take it?”

  I set my jaw and nodded. “A couple weeks.”

  His smile lengthened. “I’m not a complete dick. You can relax.”

  “I’m relaxed.”

  He laughed. “Okay, well, it’s nice to meet you, Emma Wade.”

  The door opened behind him, drawing our attention to Declan’s father and another man, slim and nearly bald. This man scanned the two of us while dropping a briefcase on a nearby table. His fingers blindly found the clasp and propped it open as if he’d done this a million times before.

  “Ready?” the man asked us.

  Declan and I both turned to his father, who nodded. “They’re ready. Are the papers in order?”

  The lawyer took out a small stack of legal-size papers. “Postdated for September eighteenth—the girl’s birthday.”

  “I was told we can’t take her home today,” Declan’s father said. “Is that true?”

  The man nodded. “Afraid so. The law is the law. That doesn’t mean we can’t be ready beforehand, though.”

  “What’s going on?” Declan asked.

  His father waved a hand. “Marriage certificate.”

  The lawyer lifted a long, slender piece of metal and a small canister out of his briefcase. “And the branding.”

  I backed up until I hit a coffee table and fell onto it. I recognized the metal now. The end was flat and small and undoubtedly shaped with linking hearts. “But you can’t. I’m only seventeen.”

  Declan looked down at me with pinched eyebrows. “I don’t know, Dad. If she doesn’t want the brand, it’s really no big deal. I can get her a ring. It’s fine.”

  His father looked disgusted by this option. “And risk losing claim to her? Grow up, boy.” He nodded at the lawyer. “Do it.”

  The lawyer depressed a button on the canister and a burst of flame ran free. He coated the metal and I stood, preparing to run from the room. Declan took me by the arms and spun me around to face the other two men.

  In my ear, he said, “Just hold still. It’ll be over before you know it.”

  • • •

  I lurch forward and dry heave over the hologram of lapping waves at my fingertips.

  Declan is my husband.

  He is also an astronomical liar. We never met the way he told me. Not in a park between meetings. It was not love at first sight. No fairy-tale beginning. He had even claimed he never had me branded. Dr. Travista must have removed it while I was clueless after my “accident.”

  At least I now know the truth despite the betrayal I feel remembering.

  I really am Emma Burke.

  CHAPTER 32

  I stare out the window in Dr. Travista’s office, absently turning my wedding band with my thumb and clutching my elbows, repressing a shiver. Snow falls heavily in large flakes. A lot has fallen since this morning, and the cars in the parking lot hide under white hillocks.

  “Emma?” Dr. Travista’s voice is raised, startling me.

  I turn. “Yes?

  He chuckles from where he sits in his chair. “You are on a whole other plane today. I’ve called your name three times.”

  Get it together, She tells me.

  I force a smile to my face. “Sorry. I was lost in the view. The snowfall is really beautiful.”

  A fine line forms between Dr. Travista’s eyes. “I thought you hated the snow.”

  My stomach flips but I hold tight to my calm expression. I have to be more careful. “It is growing on me. Did Declan tell you I went for a walk in it the other day? It is not that bad.”

  “Yes, I heard. You went out after he told you about your accident.”

  I want to ask him if Declan told him about all the sexual positions we shared in front of the fire, too, but I bite my tongue. Will nothing between Declan and me remain private?

  I stroll to my chair, taking the time to collect my thoughts. It has been two days since Declan told me this lie. One since finding out my husband is a liar of epic proportions. So epic I do not fully understand the scope, apparently. But I will find out. I have come too far to give up now.

  I sit and smile tight-lipped. “We can lose the word ‘accident.’ We both know the truth.”

  “What would you like to call it?”

  I search for the words that came to mind after I heard this lie and look away. “Attack. Violation. Kidnapping.”

  “How does this make you feel?”

  “I was angry at first,” I say and pick at the leather seam in the arm of my chair. “Now I do not know. It is as if it has happened to someone else.”

  Someone we don’t even know, She adds dryly.

  “I have to admit,” Dr. Travista says, removing his glasses, “you’re taking it rather well.”

  I shoot him a halfhearted smile. “I guess we will see how it goes if I remember the truth.”

  There is silence and he shifts in his chair. “I heard some news about Ruby,” he says.

  I sit a little straighter. “Oh?”

  “She and Charles are expecting a child.”

  My jaw falls open of its own accord and I promptly slam it back shut. “Really? How?”

  He chuckles. “I think you know all about the how of it, Emma.”

  I shake my head. “No, I mean, she cannot be well yet. When I last saw her, she did not know what a husband was, let alone sex. How could he do that to her?” My voice grows in pitch with each passing word. I cannot help but feel anger for poor, defenseless Ruby, who probably did not understand what was happening to her.

  Dr. Travista blinks at me in surprise. “It is none of our business, Emma. And anyway, a child is always good news, don’t you think so? You should be happy for your friend.”

  “Her husband is a dick,” I snap without any forethought and am immediately surprised by my use of the word at all.

  A dark chuckle fills my head, and She says, Well, well, look who’s coming out of her shell.

  Dr. Travista’s eyebrows shoot up. “Well, now, that language is quite unbecoming of you.”

  I sink into my chair and fold my arms, averting my gaze.

  “Understandable, though,” he adds with an amused smile. “Anyone would agree you have no reason to like the man. But maybe you should learn to rein in your emotions a little better.”

  Rein in my emotions? He truly has no idea what a mess I am. One small outburst with a very minor curse word and he acts as if I am a borderline emotional train wreck. Which I am, but still. He has no clue.

  I paste on a smile. “Of course. You are right. I will try to do better.”

  His eyes slim a fraction. “You have been a bit touchy lately. When did we last test you for pregnancy?”

  Oh, here we go.

  This comes out of nowhere, and I make quick mental calculations. I have been careful to avoid sex during the time I am most fertile, but this is not foolproof. It would be worse than bad to get pregnant now. Not when I just found out my husband is not the man I thought he was.

  But Dr. Travista is right. I have been quick-tempered the last few days.

  Fingers tap-tap-tap over the computer tablet as he searches for the exact day. He frowns. “That long? Oh, and I see . . . you are getting ready to start your cycle. That could be why, but let’s check to be sure.”

  I stand automatically, knowing arguing would be futile. He leads me into a nearby exam room and goes through the motions of extracting my blood. He is silent while he fills a tube and sends it through the air lock, calling to another room with instructions.

  While we wait, I tap my heel against the white tile. I take note of a single black scuff mark that was not there the last time I was in here.

  He leans into the counter, watching me. “Each time we do this, you seem more and more opposed to the idea. Why
is that?”

  “I am not opposed,” I say.

  “Nervous, then?”

  I nod. “A little.” I want to scream I do not want this! Every cell in my body is anxious to hear its fate. I hate this. I hate this so much.

  The door opens a moment later and my old nurse, Randall, walks in with a woman in tow. She blinks slowly, then smiles weakly at Dr. Travista. I recognize her, but her identity is just out of reach. Auburn hair cut very close to her head. Bone thin. I wonder if she has a single ounce of fat on her body. It is hard to tell her age, but I think she is young like me. Her cheekbones seem overlarge, and so do her hazel eyes.

  Where the hell do they find these sick women? She asks.

  Randall pulls to an abrupt stop when he sees me, and Dr. Travista straightens.

  “You’re a little early,” Dr. Travista says to Randall. He glances at me. “Emma, why don’t you wait for me in my office? I should have your results shortly.”

  I stand slowly, catching the woman’s eyes for only a moment. She does not seem to recognize me even though I know her from somewhere. I want to stay until I can figure this out, but I have been dismissed and there is no arguing with that.

  Of course, it would not be out of character to introduce myself. I step toward her and extend my hand. “Hello. I am Emma Burke.”

  The woman’s smile widens to show very white, very perfect teeth. She takes my hand, which surprises me. I fully expected a reaction like one Ruby would have given me: none at all.

  “Lydia Farris. Nice to meet you, Emma. You must be Declan’s wife.”

  “Y-yes,” I say and find myself blinking rapidly, as if I need my vision cleared rather than the shock of information flooding my head. Richard Farris’s wife?

  A surprised gasp fills my head. The Stepford wife?

  I just saw Lydia Farris days ago, and she looked nothing like this skeletal woman in front of me. She had been thin, but nothing like this. And all of her hair is gone.

  Ignoring my runaway thoughts, I say, “Farris sounds familiar. I believe I met your husband at my art show.”

  She nods. “Oh yes. I was sorry to miss it. I heard it was wonderful. I had to stay home with our young children. We have three boys.”

  I smile, though I want to gape and gawk at her appearance. “Three? How nice for you.”

  “And now I hope to have a few girls to supplement the small lot of them,” she says and chuckles.

  Dr. Travista steps toward her. “Lydia, why don’t you sit? You and Emma will have plenty of time to chat.” He looks pointedly at me, telling me it is time to go.

  “I will come see you soon,” I tell her. “Maybe you can show me pictures of your boys.”

  Randall eases her into a chair and she smiles up at me. “I would love to. See you soon, Emma.”

  I don’t like it, She tells me.

  Me, either. And just what I need. Another puzzle piece to add to the board.

  CHAPTER 33

  Declan comes home with the usual glum expression after hearing the news that I am not carrying his child yet. I would not be upset about this at all, but now Dr. Travista wishes to try something else. He did not elaborate, but I know more invasive tests are on the way.

  I wordlessly pour Declan a bourbon and check on the dinner I have baking in the oven. He takes his drink into the other room to change clothes and I allow myself to relax. It is the first moment I have had that I know he is not watching me. Noah, maybe. Foster . . . But not Declan, and he is the one I have to hide from.

  I lean over the counter and cover my face. Take several deep breaths. This is too hard. How am supposed to maintain this lie? I feel as if I am losing my mind. Each thing I learn makes everything I already know more muddled. And what was with Lydia Farris today? Why did she look like that?

  The connections are there. Me. Ruby. Lydia. I have no idea if I looked like that, but the way Ruby acted was exactly how I was. And Ruby was thin like Lydia is now. But Lydia has all of her faculties. There is the conversation about Lydia’s infertility I overheard, too. She was seeing Dr. Travista because she wanted to have more children. It has only been a couple of days and she spoke as if she was already cured of this.

  I am so close to the answer, but it is out of my reach.

  “I don’t give a good goddamn fuck about the money!” Declan yells from the other room, startling me upright.

  The bedroom door is closed, but I know he is on the phone. He closes the door only when he needs to have a private conversation. This is the first time I have heard him yell, though. I tiptoe quickly to the door and lean in to hear him better.

  “Does it look like I’m hurting? If they’re caught, everything I’ve done—” He stops abruptly, pauses, and continues in a tone more comparable to the one he used with Charles on our first meeting: all business laced in warning. “My entire company is in jeopardy if this goes south. Get that team back, and get them back now. With or without the cargo. I’m not fucking around.”

  I am not positive, but I have to assume that is the end of his conversation and retreat to the sliding door. If he comes out, I do not want him to think I heard anything. I open the door and step out just as the bedroom door slides open. I practically jump into a nearby chair and wince when the cold wood seeps through my jeans, but at least there is no snow on it.

  Declan peeks outside and looks around until he spots me. He smiles as if he were not just yelling at someone. I can only hope my masks are on as tight as his are.

  What a pair you make, She says.

  I return Declan’s smile, inwardly feeling the sting of his betrayal. I want to accept his smile for what it is. I want to see the warmth in his eyes when he looks at me and believe he truly loves me. I do not know what to believe anymore. He and his father bought and paid for me. I am no more than a product that is not producing as she should. How long until he gives up and sets me loose?

  “What are you doing out here?” Declan asks. “And where’s your coat?”

  I rub my arms and shrug. “I needed to cool off. It was too warm by the oven.”

  He steps out and looks around. He is wearing a long-sleeve white T-shirt and black cotton drawstring pants that hang low on his hips. I am like one of Pavlov’s dogs: My loins stir and my mouth waters. How can I still want him like this? I am disgusted with myself.

  A light breeze lifts his hair and lays it over his forehead. Absently, he brushes it back and sighs. “You left the door open.”

  “Did I? Sorry. I have not been out too long. Is the house cold?”

  “Nah.” He grows quiet and takes deep breaths, avoiding my eyes.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask. I am freezing now and want to go inside, but I am curious to see if he will tell me about his call. The moment he said the word “team,” I thought of the memories with Foster and the team we led into the WTC. Naturally, I wonder about the purpose of Declan’s team.

  “No.” He gives me a half smile. I almost believe it is a sad smile. “Just had an off day. I had really hoped your test would come back differently. Especially after I heard Ruby’s pregnancy had already taken.”

  I swallow and try to maintain my expression of interest. “Was there concern she could not get pregnant?”

  He shrugs. “No more than for you since the accident.”

  “Was she kidnapped, too?” He has never given me an explanation for Ruby’s accident, and I wonder what lie he will tell me about her.

  Declan looks around and rubs his arms. “Aren’t you getting cold?”

  I stand, annoyed that he thinks he can divert me so easily. “I met Richard Farris’s wife today.”

  Declan leads me into the house with a hand on the small of my back. “I heard. Lydia is a very nice woman. I think you and she will become good friends.”

  “What is wrong with her?”

  He slides the door shut behind him and heads down to the living room to start a fire. “She’s just been very ill. Richard thought Arthur could help, and as luck would have it, h
e can. She’s already well on her way to good health.”

  I do not miss the fact that he has not mentioned infertility, which, based on their conversation in the hall outside the transporter room, was the reason Lydia was there. Another lie. And I cannot call him on it because I was eavesdropping.

  Declan kneels in front of the fireplace and sets up fresh logs for the fire while I return to the kitchen.

  “We should invite them to dinner,” I say, pulling our meal from the oven.

  He appears beside me with plates and silverware, preparing to follow me to the table. “Sure, why not? Speaking of invitations, we’ve been invited out for dinner tomorrow. An old college friend of mine and his new wife. I think he wants to show her off.” He grins as he sets the plates down on the table. “He always tries to one-up me.”

  I chuckle. “Your friend must fail a lot.” I swallow the guilt at how naturally and unexpectedly I fall into our normal banter.

  He nods and shoots me a tilted grin. “Pretty much. To hear him tell it, though, it’s the other way around.”

  My stomach knots at the sight of this grin I love so much. It pains me to turn my back on him the way I have, but he has left me with no other choice. I must take my life back. My real one, not the fairy tale he has fabricated.

  “Should be an interesting night, then,” I say.

  “I’ll have to get you something nice to wear. The restaurant is one of those high-class joints with small portions.”

  I twist my face into a scowl and he laughs.

  “It’s not that bad,” he says. “Small but good.”

  “If you say so.”

  • • •

  I step into my studio, intent on losing myself in a new painting. I want to be alone—really alone—and not have to worry or think about everything going on for the few hours before I have to get ready for our dinner out tonight.

  All of that hope shatters when I find Noah waiting for me. He sits on my stool playing with the holograms. I find this interesting, seeing him with an amused expression—a child with a new toy. No anger or sadness or any trace of the man I have grown to know in pieces. This man is touchable.