Archetype

by M. D. Waters

  I swiped at his hand. “So it’s okay for you to risk your life but not me?”

  Foster sat forward in a chair nearby. “She did save my life. And she didn’t even get a scratch.”

  Noah and I turned a glare on him at the same time. I said, “Stay out of this, Foster,” at the same moment Noah said, “Stay out of this, Birmingham.”

  Noah turned his intense eyes on me and lowered his tone. “My goddamn life flashed before my eyes today—”

  “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”

  “—and I realized something.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh God, what? Am I too petite? Fragile? Feminine? What?”

  He raised his eyebrows, daring me to continue, warning me that if I did, he might seriously hurt me, then said, “I realized that I’m wasting precious time. Marry me.”

  Foster jumped straight up, fist in the air, and whooped. High-fived a few people surrounding him.

  I choked on pure oxygen. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  The entire room held their breath while I blinked in surprise. I didn’t have to think about the answer. I’d been dreaming of this moment for more than two years. What caught me up was the fact that he was doing it in the middle of an argument. In front of everybody.

  I narrowed my eyes. “First of all, where’s your sense of romance, you jerk? Second . . .” I took a deep breath and let the moment last as long as possible. He deserved it. “Yes.”

  • • •

  “Oh, no you don’t,” I said, laughing. “You aren’t claiming my work. An original by Emma and Emma alone.”

  “You know,” Noah said thoughtfully, “I would buy this original by Emma and Emma alone. I particularly like the colors you chose for the sunset.”

  I stood and whirled around on him. I pushed my palms against his chest, and as he and the stool went toppling into the sand, he grabbed my forearms and took me with him. He rolled us until I lay on my back and buried his chin in my neck.

  I threaded my fingers into his hair. “The hearts were a good idea. I like them.”

  He pulled away and grinned his most devilish smile. Laugh lines fanned out from his eyes. “So does that mean I get to take the credit?”

  I gripped his hair in my fists. “It means I like them. And from now on, when I paint them into a painting, you’ll know it’s only for you. Like a secret handshake, only it’s like a secret kiss or a declaration of love or something altogether corny and disgusting.”

  “A reminder of the time we made love on the beach,” he added and grinned.

  “We haven’t done that.”

  “We’re about to,” he said, his voice turning husky.

  • • •

  The screen goes blank in my white room. It is only me and Her among the sparks. We do not stand steady. The room grows unstable. The gusts of wind threaten to take us off our feet. The electricity is a constant crackling and flaring of light. My room groans from the pressure, and I think it might soon break.

  All amusement is gone from Her face. She reaches out a hand for me. “Hold on to me, Emma.”

  I reach out and grip Her forearm, and She grasps mine in return. The room shakes and begins to rock violently. We reach for the other’s second arm at the same moment. As one tear slides down Her left cheek, one slides down my right.

  “Do not leave me,” I say, and my voice is lost in the noise of the room I have created around us.

  “Just hold on,” She yells over the thundering electricity and wind gusts. “Remember everything. It’s too important to forget. And it’s only the beginning. There’s so much more.”

  A gust of wind turns us weightless for the length of a heartbeat. With my feet firmly on the ground, my stomach slams back home. I swallow against a dry throat. “What if I cannot remember? What then?”

  “Fight to remember, Emma. Hold on to me. To Noah. Fight.” The wind picks Her up and pulls Her toward the white space that is my walls with no visible edges. Just nothingness. “Hold on!”

  I tighten my grip. She slips and we grasp hands. I grit my teeth.

  She is slipping.

  “No!”

  CHAPTER 37

  Emma? How do you feel?”

  I yank at my bound wrists. Struggle against the binding across my forehead and chest. “What is going on?” I ask through gritted teeth.

  Dr. Travista lays a hand on my shoulder. “Just calm down. We’ll get to that in a moment. What’s the last thing you remember?”

  The last thing I remember. Memories of Noah. Holding on to myself with a fierceness and desperation that surprised me.

  And winning.

  Declan appears on the other side of the table, a deep crease between his eyes. “Emma, answer the question.”

  “What am I doing here?” I ask and twist my bound wrists. I pull hard enough to cause pain, making my eyes glass over with tears. I am too angry to fake frightened ones. “Did something happen?”

  The two share a frustrating glance over me, holding some private conversation with their eyes. I wait impatiently for their response, but I wait nonetheless. They can never know this experiment failed.

  Declan is the first to react. “Nothing serious happened. You fainted during your run this morning.”

  The lie stings. One day the lies will not surprise me and I will be able to let them glance by, leaving me unscathed. “Then why am I strapped to a table?”

  Dr. Travista takes over here. “I needed you to hold still as a precaution in case you woke up while I was checking you over.”

  “Is it necessary now?”

  They exchange another look, and I bite the inside of my cheek, tasting copper. Finally, Dr. Travista begins removing the straps. I sit up and a low throb of pain courses through my head. I wince and press the heels of my palms into my eyes. The pressure barely touches the ache.

  Dr. Travista taps my leg. “I’ll get you something for that headache. Can you tell me what you remember first?”

  I think back over the course of the last few days. Everything started going wrong the day Declan told me about the supposed rape and kidnapping. That was right after the opening. “The show at the gallery,” I say, mentally crossing my fingers.

  Declan’s posture relaxes and Dr. Travista nods. Smiles. “Good. That was just last night. No harm done, then. I’ll get you something for that headache.”

  He leaves me alone with Declan, who places himself right in front of me. He pushes my hair back and tucks both sides behind my ears. It takes everything I have to keep my muscles relaxed. I smile at him and he kisses my forehead. I slide my arms around his waist and lay my head against his chest. His heart beats fast and in contrast to the slow strokes of his hand on my head.

  Being this close to him right now makes me sick, but I have a part to play and I plan to play it well. I will destroy him for what he has done to me. But I need help. I need Noah, but he needs to know I am okay. I hope he is watching this.

  “I had the strangest dream just now,” I say.

  Declan stiffens. The stroking over my head stops, then restarts a moment later. “Oh yeah?”

  “I dreamed about Zeus turning into a white bull.”

  Declan chuckles. “That is strange.”

  “He and some goddess heroine stormed a castle together.”

  “Did they win?”

  I look up and smile at him. “Yeah. The bad guy went down in flames.”

  • • •

  Dr. Travista wants me to stay overnight, and like the good little wife and patient I am, I comply with a smile and a doctor-knows-best attitude. Declan sets up a cot beside the single bed in my room and stays. I hate that he will not leave me alone.

  To my surprise, I sleep through the night. I am too physically and mentally exhausted to do anything else. If I dreamed, I do not remember anything, and I wake in the same position I fell asleep in.

  Declan is still asleep when my eyelids slide open. He faces me, and the hard planes of his face are so soft. S
eeing him like this, so innocent and young-looking, it is easy to understand why I fell in love with him.

  And I hate myself for it. For betraying Noah. It is no wonder he was so angry and hurt. He had every right. It was not my fault—I get that—but even so, how did I forget about my husband so easily?

  But I did not forget completely, I remind myself. It took a while, but I finally remembered. There are still a lot of holes to fill, but at least I have filled in the important parts. Now if I could just shovel out the last few months and make them disappear. I do not want to feel this pain every time I look at Declan, because God help me, I still love him for reasons that will never make sense.

  I get up, telling myself this is part of the act I must play, that I will loathe every second of what I am about to do. But the truth is, I need to do this. I need to allow myself one last moment before I say good-bye to Declan for good. Because when we leave this room today, I will leave as his enemy and do whatever it takes to bring him down.

  I slide onto the cot, facing him. He stirs and peers through slitted lids. His arm lifts automatically to let me roll into his chest. The steady rhythm of his heart beats under my cheek and the heat of his body seeps into my skin. It is as familiar as my own now. Tears sting my eyes and I hide my face in his chest, taking slow, steady breaths. Once, being here in his arms felt as natural as breathing. Now, it does nothing more than shatter my heart.

  • • •

  It is more than two days before Declan returns to work. He claims he needs the time off, but he spends a lot of that time closed off in the bedroom on the phone. Whatever is going on with the “team” has gone horribly wrong. All I get out of his conversations is that they are stuck across the border—which border, I can only guess at. The west, I assume. Contact has been lost and he fears someone found them out and is holding them. I cross my fingers that this is the case.

  Declan stays long enough to have breakfast with me on the third day, seeming hesitant to leave me. I do not think I can last another day with him but continue to act the part of his adoring wife.

  “I think I will go paint today,” I say, pushing my food around my plate. “Something new. I am done with beaches for a very long time,” I add and laugh. It feels unnatural.

  “That’s a great idea. What will you paint?”

  I shrug noncommittally. “I do not know. I am hoping the holograms will inspire me.”

  He stands and kisses my temple. “Well, whatever you decide, I’m sure it will be brilliant.” He takes his plate into the kitchen and there is a clatter when he sets it in the sink. “Call if you need anything.”

  I nod, staring intently at the remains of eggs and toast on my plate. My stomach flips nervously. If I am right, Noah will come. Hopefully, he will have a plan to get me out of here. I cannot take much more of these lies.

  “Emma?” I turn to find Declan watching me. “You okay?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “You seem distant.”

  I smile and shrug. “Just thinking about the spring. I hope it comes early.”

  His lips thin slightly and he nods. “It’ll be beautiful. You’ll love it.”

  I realize what he must have heard in my lie: the very words he used to try to coax me into submission at the lab. His talk of spring.

  “I will love anything that is not covered in snow,” I tell him with a roll of my eyes and a grin.

  I stand with my plate and meet him in the kitchen. When my dishes clatter home with his in the sink, I take him by the waist and twist him to face me. The hard lines of his face disappear and he smiles crookedly down at me.

  “I will miss the fireside nights, though,” I whisper.

  He leans to kiss me and I push up on my toes to meet him. He tastes of coffee and toast, smells of heavy musk. My heart wrenches painfully at the fond familiarity of this. No matter how much I have tried to distance myself from him these past days, it is still too hard to let go completely.

  But I will.

  He has left me no other choice.

  I wave good-bye to him and clean up the kitchen with shaking hands. My nerves are tripping with the release of anxiety. I want to run out of here to see if Noah is in the studio, but I have to act as if everything is normal. Just another day.

  The hum of the teleporter sounds. It must be Declan, and I am glad I did not go running off.

  I shut off the faucet and fling off the excess water on my hands. “Forget something?” I ask and grab a hand towel.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  I whirl at the sound of Noah’s voice. My heart thumps as if it will break through my rib cage. He wears a day’s worth of beard growth and his cropped waves are a crazy mess on his head. Dark shadows live under his eyes. He looks like hell and bliss all rolled into one.

  I try to walk around the island and end up running to him. He catches me and buries his face in my neck. I clutch a handful of his hair in my fist and choke out a strangled laugh.

  “I knew you would come,” I whisper.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he said. “If I’d had any other choice—”

  “No. I know. I am the one who is sorry. I did not know before, but now I remember. I remember how we met and how you proposed and . . .” I pull away and clasp his face, lightly scraping my nails over his sideburns, holding us nose to nose. “Noah, I am so sorry. You must hate—”

  “Emma, stop.” His hands circle my wrists, but he does not pull them away.

  “Why did you not tell me the truth before? Why all the secrets?”

  He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “You still don’t understand.”

  I grip his face and shake his eyes back open. “All I need to understand,” I say earnestly, “is that you still love me.”

  His lips part to say something, but I cannot wait any longer. I kiss him. He does not stop it, but his hands hover over my cheeks as if debating it. Finally—finally—his hands tighten on either side of my head and his return kiss is desperate. This kiss feels as if it is my first breath after a lifetime of being forced to hold it. I want to cry and laugh and scream and claw and crawl inside him. I do not care that I do not understand what has happened, because nothing matters more than being with him in this moment. Holding him. Feeling him. Tasting him.

  It is the most natural thing in the world to force my hands up his T-shirt and stroke his hot skin, the trail of hair over his stomach. His breath stills, as do his lips, and he jerks away as if my touch burns him.

  The glow of tears in his amber eyes startles me. I reach for him and he snaps his hands up between us.

  “Don’t,” he says with a pained, deep sound.

  “What? Why? I am your wife, Noah.”

  “But that’s just it,” he says, his voice choked. “You aren’t. God knows I feel as if I’m looking at a miracle, that I’ve dreamed these past horrifying months, but I see the truth every damn day. I see her every day. You aren’t my wife.”

  CHAPTER 38

  I will not let him hurt me again. I will not let him lie to me anymore. “The hell I am not. I remembered things when Travista tried to erase my memories. I remembered enough to know the truth.”

  I cup my hands around the sides of his neck and force him to look me in the eyes. “Remember what we said about the hearts? You first painted them for me. Now I paint them for you. I did that without even remembering why, but that is how strong—”

  “Stop,” he says, pulling my hands away. He pushes by me, running his hands through his hair.

  I spin with him, gaping. “Are you that upset about Declan? That was not my fault.”

  His breath hisses through gritted teeth. “Oh, trust me, I’m insanely pissed about Declan, but no, I don’t blame you. This situation is way more fucked up than that.” He stands at the island now and slams a fist down on the top, rattling a bowl nearby. “I can’t fucking believe this is happening.”

  “You cannot believe what is happening? Noah, you have to talk to
me. You have to make me understand, because the more you push me away—” I stop, unable to let the thought fully form, let alone tell him. My heart is shattering right now.

  He shakes his head and moves swiftly toward me. His fingers bite into my upper arm as he spins me toward the teleporter. “Let’s go. You just have to see.”

  “See what? Jesus, you are hurting me. Let me go.” I twist out of his hand.

  Stepping back, he raises a hand for me to step into the teleporter, and I go after only a moment’s hesitation. I am almost afraid to see what has him on edge, but I am anxious to finally learn the truth.

  The floor gives under our weight and the sensors read our information. The difference between Declan’s and Noah’s is not much, even though Declan has a couple more inches on Noah in height.

  Noah taps a port number into the keypad and my living room melts into stone walls and floors and a flurry of people. When we appear, several people do double takes and stop, and this reaction ripples throughout the room until they are all staring at us. It is a command center almost exactly like the one I saw in the memory when he proposed to me.

  Stations of tables and computers form semicircles over wide, gray stone steps for several rows. The back wall is one gigantic computer screen, but not just that wall . . . all of them. It is like Declan’s computer, only these walls are comprised of multiple images. It is hundreds of cameras watching hundreds of different places all at once.

  “Burke isn’t the only business we’ve sold Tucker Securities to,” Noah tells me. “We’re everywhere.”

  “You are a genius,” I whisper.

  “No, my wife is. Was,” he adds more to himself, then says, “I know computers; that’s all. She knew we could turn high-tech security against them and find their weak spots.”

  I clear my throat, unsuccessfully ignoring the pang of hurt. I do not understand why he says these things when I am standing right here. Did he marry someone else and I just have not remembered?

  “You were going to show me something?” I ask, needing the answers before I go crazy speculating.

  He takes me by the elbow. “Yeah, let’s go.”