by Allie Marell
“I’m sure he did?” She watched the heart monitor readout blipping across the screen. It looked nice and strong, regular. But what did she really know about all this?
Oliver’s bottom lip wobbled. “No, he didn’t. If he did, Mummy would be awake.”
“Ah.” Now she understood. Poor kid, he didn’t want much. Only that precious connection to his ratbag father and his mummy awake and smiling for Christmas.
“Why didn’t he read it?”
“Umm... Well, I’m sure he did, Oliver. But remember I said there were five sleeps to go?”
Oliver nodded glumly, staring at his mother with forlorn eyes. They really shouldn’t be putting the poor kid through this.
“Well, Santa can’t bring you presents before Christmas Day, can he? He’s got to read all those letters first.”
“I guess.” His little hand crept out to stroke the still fingers lying on the pristine sheet. “Aunty Andra, I can’t wait. I want her to wake up now.”
Leaning over his bed, she hugged him tight. “So do I, sweetie. And she will. But we just have to wait until she’s better. Can you do that?”
He had no answer for her. Santa might be about to let him down. And she had no way of fixing that. She groaned inside. If only Santar had stayed to see this. He needed to see it.
“Let’s talk to Mummy, shall we? Tell her about your exciting morning?”
“Oh yes. Mummy, they came to see me. From the TV. Johnny Eldon wrote on my cast. And he gave me a Magic Game Show book.”
Andra breathed a quiet sigh of relief as Oliver chattered on, Santa and Christmas wish letters forgotten for now. She joined in, chatting about mundane, every day things. Wondering if the next time she visited, she’d come here first and unburden the fantastic tale of her visitor from outer space.
Emma of all people would lap that up.
A nurse popped her head around the door. Gave Oliver a wave.
“Keep talking, sweetheart. I’m sure your mummy can hear you.”
“I’m telling her about The Magic Game Show. She always watched it with me.”
“Your mummy is the best,” the nurse said. “If you need anything, Andra, just buzz me.”
Most of the staff knew her by name now. Andra nodded in response to the agreed code that really meant, buzz me if she wakes up. When she wakes up, Andra corrected in her head. Stay positive. Keep on believing.
For one mad moment she had the crazy idea that if Santar really was an alien from a superior race, which he must be to travel so far through space, then maybe he could help Emma. They must have advanced medical procedures where he came from.
She dismissed the thought running through her mind. Best case he was a super soldier, an alien James Bond. He’d spoken of no medical training.
Oliver strained to kiss his mother’s hand and nearly rolled from his bed in the effort to reach her. Andra jumped to help. Emma would awaken in her own good time aided by the fine hospital doctors here on the ward. No Santars or alien space travellers involved.
Oliver was his usual quiet self on the way back to the children’s ward. Andra braced for the long goodbye. His hand crept out to hold hers, almost as if he’d read her thoughts.
“Can I come home with you, Aunty Andra? I don’t like it here.”
She gave it a squeeze, feeling horribly inadequate. If only she had a magic wand.
“Soon, Oliver. When your leg is better enough, you can come home with me. And then your mummy can too, when she wakes up.”
“I want to come now.” The little hand gripped tighter. Andra scanned the corridor for Santar, willing him to appear to distract the child. This part was never easy.
“I’ll come to see you again tomorrow, promise.”
She hated hiding behind promises. Of course she’d come, but to Oliver, it must sound like the lamest excuse to leave. Tomorrow was a long time for a kid.
“Will you bring Santa with you?”
“Of course I will.” If she had to tie him up and transport him trussed like a turkey and locked in the boot of her car. Not up for negotiation. The guy wanted to keep General Jo? She was going to make him feel as guilty as hell for it.
They stopped to say hello to an ancient woman, shuffling aimlessly along the corridor in her nightie. One of the orderlies made a discreet call for help while Andra kept her talking and the old woman cooed over Oliver and pinched his cheeks, making him squirm away.
Old woman dealt with, they reached the children’s ward and Andra found her jacket and slipped it on. “Oliver,” she said, not knowing where to start. “You know Santa is a very busy man, don’t you?”
Oliver nodded solemnly, his attention already distracted by the boy pulling faces in the bed opposite.
“Well, he doesn’t always get everything on your wish list. Otherwise he’d never be able to deliver everything in time for Christmas.”
“I only asked for three things.” Oliver twisted his face in a grimace, thrusting it towards the boy. “I’m not being greedy.”
She didn’t have to ask what those three things were. After her own parents died, she’d fallen into a Christmas slump, thinking she might never enjoy the season again. But gradually the joy and excitement crept back and this year she’d looked forward to having Emma and Oliver as her first Christmas guests at Moor Cottage.
A miracle if that happened now. But what was Christmas if not for magic and miracles?
“I know you’re not, sweetheart. Santa’s listening, don’t you worry.”
“He’s your friend,” Oliver said, reaching for his empty plastic juice cup. Ready to use it as a missile if the face pulling contest turned to all out war. “He’ll listen to you.”
“You know what, Oliver? Yes, he will.” Deftly, she took the cup from his fingers. “I’ll make sure you get something on your list.” Bending, she kissed his cheek and threw him a cheery wave.
She almost ran from the ward, desperate to find Santar before losing her resolve. No longer up for negotiation Come Christmas morning General Jo was landing here, on Oliver’s bed. End of story.
Usually she’d pop back in to see Emma by herself before leaving. No time today. She had an errant Starman to track down. Maybe she’d drag him to the ICU. Let him see for himself what she was up against this Christmas.
But maybe he really did have no heart. And what did she do then?
Waiting in the smaller reception area outside the secure door to the ward, she sought out the head of coal-black hair towering over the milling people.
One thing she was sure of. There was a heart somewhere inside the man who latched so desperately onto William Chapman’s story, sought out the missing boy’s mother and almost convinced himself he and William were the same person.
Seemed Oliver wasn’t the only man in her life with unrealistic expectations this Christmas. Andra made her way to the stairs, glad he wasn’t waiting outside the ward door. Given her mood when she left Oliver’s bed, she might have laid right into Santar, forgetting he had his problems too.
And to him they were as real and important as Oliver’s.
If he deserted his post, the army wanted him found. All it took was a phone call from her.
One she’d never make.
No sign of Santar in the hospital lobby area. She looked around, willing him to appear. Surely he’d know to wait for her here? Or was he out on the road, where she dropped him off earlier?
Damn the man, she didn’t need all this extra worry. Outside, the light was beginning to fade, the evening drawing in. White flakes swirled in the glare of a spotlight outside the main door. Snowing again. She didn’t relish coaxing her temperamental Focus over snow-slicked country roads in the dark.
Come on, Santar. Where are you?
She bought herself a hot chocolate from the cafe, figuring she deserved the indulgent treat. Found a table with a good view of the action and waited.
Was it only yesterday he bumped into her at the market? That he arrived to be a giant pain in the butt of her already compl
icated life?
Felt like she’d known him forever.
Wiping frothy chocolate from her mouth, she found herself smiling at the orderly’s comment regarding Santa and chimneys. Remembered how she and Santar had spent the morning.
Hot sex.
No, don’t think of that or everyone will know.
She turned her thoughts resolutely to the trek over the moors to the strange metal coffin thing he’d insisted she see. The odd-looking selection of broken gadgets. Santar’s revelation he’d stowed a weapon in her barn.
Enough to wipe a sex-fuelled grin off any woman’s face.
Oh hell, she was way out of her depth and running on instinct now. No option to turn back time and walk the main road instead of the shortcut to the car park after picking up General Jo. One small decision and she’d have avoided bumping into the man who needed the toy maybe more than Oliver.
When she drank down the last of her chocolate, the windows flanking the cafe were dark shapes pricked with the yellow glow of the street lamps lining the road to the hospital car park. The throng of visitors increased as people dropped in to see loved ones and friends on the way home from work, their hair and jackets spotted with snow.
Andra glanced at her phone. Five more minutes and she was going looking.
He hadn’t walked out on her. She refused to believe that. Not without saying goodbye.
So where in God’s name had he gone?
Chapter 15
Corridors and wards flash by. Santar hardly notices the people going about their hospital business. He needs to get out. To outrun the building panic.
He’d rather face a whole platoon of Algon warriors than this disorientating confusion.
The exit door opens onto a side wing and a square courtyard open to the elements. Dumpsters in different colours line one of the walls and when he catches his breath, he sees what looks like a long cabin parked in the corner. His neck tingles and he’s not sure if it’s the location tracker or the withdrawal effects of the performance-enhancing drugs.
Or simply the reaction to seeing that terrible hope in Oliver’s eyes when the boy mistook him for the fabled creature who magically solves all of life’s problems.
More like the creature who makes promises he’ll never keep.
The boy will learn soon enough that you can run all you like, life will always catch up and force you to look at things you’d rather not see.
There is no magical solution.
He fishes General Jo from the backpack, for a fleeting moment thinking he might destroy the toy. Toss it into one of the dumpsters and get rid of it for good. He’s a man of action. His mind honed and versed in cunning and logic. Cool under fire, unbreakable and incorruptible. Why then does this small toy almost bring him to his knees?
A male in green pants and blouse exits the door. With a cursory nod at Santar, the man extracts a packet from his breast pocket and flicks out a white stick.
Smoking stick. Cigarettes, they’re called here.
Silently the man offers the packet. Santar hesitates before pulling the scarf from his mouth and accepting, instinctively knowing it will calm his nerves. He shades the offered flame from the biting wind, pulls the smoke into his lungs. It’s snowing again, and he lifts his face, letting the wet flakes cool his hot skin.
It’s been a hell of a ride since his escape. Since eons before he bolted, if he’s honest with himself. Once the memories started crowding in, he was lost and he knew it.
The man finishes his cigarette, discarding the end in one of the dumpsters. Santar thinks of Andra and realises he’s spent too long out here. Shades of evening mask the hospital buildings and a watery orange light tints the grey sky as the planet’s sun sets for the night.
He may have to dig the tracker out himself. Has no way to determine the unit’s effectiveness or lack of it. Can only hope the signal must be weak and a bounty hunter pretty desperate to chase him all the way out here.
Andra must be waiting for him. Worrying too, if he’s learned anything about the woman. Go find her. Put her mind at ease. She may have walked out on him at the church cafe, and perhaps he deserved that. But in so short a time, the dynamics between them have changed.
He’d think himself a poor excuse for a male if he simply kept on walking now.
And where would he go?
The panic’s receding, leaving him feeling a little foolish standing in the snow, a child’s toy gripped in his fist. The figure’s hard, uncompromising expression seems like a personal censure.
Man up, son. Only girls cry. Don’t ever embarrass me like that again.
The words echoing in memory are real as the snow freezing his skin. When he touches the toy, he remembers. He needs to remember or he’ll never have peace. Why can’t Andra see that?
The wind sends discarded paper in scurrying circles around the courtyard. A distant engine roars and it strikes him that Andra will not relish driving the narrow, snow-covered roads to her cottage in the dark.
To a man used to basic barracks and tasteless military rations, returning to the warm embrace of that cottage on the moors is an inviting prospect. He stows away General Jo’s stern, accusing face and makes for the door. Andra said to rendezvous at the main entrance and he can only hope she waited for him.
Something catches his eye as he mounts the first step to the smaller rear hospital entrance. A sign on the side of the cabin parked in the courtyard.
Mobile MRI Scanner Unit.
MRI. Magnetic Resonance Scanner. He pauses, considering. Though likely an unsophisticated unit compared to those he’s familiar with, an unprotected and compromised tracker chip may be susceptible to the scanning rays.
Covertly, he glances around. Still alone. No watchers save the camera blinking high on the wall. A well aimed projectile should disable it.
And in doing so, alert security who would prove troublesome.
He feigns nonchalance, thinking it through. As an operative in possession of a handheld Docata unit, he’d use a cata ray to reroute the camera into a loop of previous recording and mask his activity for a short while. The MRI cabin looks unattended, though it’s almost certainly protected by locks and alarms.
Again, normally not a problem for the man who once broke into the Ruagar Credit Repository undetected. If he does manage to figure the lock code and trigger the alarm, how long will it take to activate and run the unit? Can it even be done solo?
Without benefit of his alpha core’s extensive knowledge bank, he has no way of knowing.
“Oh, thank goodness. There you are.”
A familiar voice sounds behind him. He turns to see Andra standing in the open doorway, relief written all over her face.
“I waited for you at the main entrance. And then I came in search.” She moves cautiously towards him, as if they only just met. “I thought you’d run out on me.”
She’s pulled a stretch hat over the hair tied back in a tail at her nape. The wind catches the long, loose ends, sending them splaying like a fan. The spots of melted snow on her jacket tell him she’s been outside seeking him.
He looks back at the MRI scanner. Her appearance broke his thoughts. Perhaps saved him from a run-in with the hospital security. But a small part of him bristles at the intrusion. He wants this tracker disabled and she stopped him.
“Run out on you? Like you did to me?” He spits out the words, unfairly venting his frustration on the last person he should be upsetting.
“That was different. You’d just kidnapped me. If you haven’t forgotten.” Andra’s expression changes. More than concern now, she’s confused and a little hurt by his unwarranted accusation.
“I know. Forgive me. I spoke without thinking.”
Andra shakes her head and walks out onto the steps, letting the door close behind her. “It’s all right. I understand. Santar, it’s been a lot for one day. But it’s time to go home now.” She extends a hand to him. “Come on.”
“Home?” His voice drips bitter venom
at the word. “Home is an alien concept to Centrum Command.”
“But you have one now.” Andra risks another step and the hint of fear in her eyes shames him. “Mi casa e su casa and all that.”
Still he cannot move. His fingers are locked tight on the cold railings at the side of the steps. Would Andra know how to operate the unit? If a skilled operative came by, he might easily overwhelm them and force them to help him.
Ridiculous thoughts run through his mind. Above their heads, a vent lets off a noisy hiss of steam. The scent of cooking food fills the air. Andra’s shivering visibly now, waiting for him to take her hand.
“My house is your house?” He lets out a grating laugh. “But only as long as I hold General Jo hostage, eh?”
“Santar, you know you can stay as long as you like. What’s come over you?” She tries another tactic. Folds her arms and arches a brow. “I won’t deny you have a certain dangerous allure. But to be serious, the truth is I really do want to help you. Whatever you’ve done, whoever you really are. I can’t leave you wandering the streets in the snow a week before Christmas.”
His gaze lowers to her hand. Why is he putting her through this torment when her only sin was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?
“Then this persistence is merely pity?” Pity gets a being killed. Does she not realise that simple truth? Make someone feel sorry for you and they let down their guard.
And then you have them.
“Get it out of your system, Santar. I’m listening.”
And likely freezing to the point of expiring. He can’t help admiring the woman, stubbornly standing there meeting him head on.
“Very well. This unit here contains a strong magnetic charge. Am I right?”
Andra glances around before letting her gaze settle on the cabin. “The MRI scanner? I don’t know much about them, but yes, I suppose it does.”
“How easy are they to operate?”
“You have to be kidding me?” She’s down the steps and barring his way, her face an incredulous mask. “We are not breaking into a hospital MRI scanner. Are you crazy?” Her voice drops to a whisper, one eye on the security camera.