“I want what’s best for you.”
“What’s that? It’s not like my father lives across town so I can drop by, check out my old home and come away if I feel like it. Once I return to my wilderness family I doubt I’ll be able to come back to the city any time soon. Tell me what to do. You know me better than I know myself. I’ll do whatever you say.” She looked into his eyes with the same need and hunger she had displayed the first time they’d met. Back then he would have happily told her to go. But now he realized he didn’t want her to leave. Not because she was an intriguing mystery or because he didn’t want her to return to her father’s cult but because, for the first time, for whatever reason, he had met someone he wanted to keep in his life. “What should I do, Nathan? Do I stay or do I go?”
It was an impossible question for Fox to answer. Personally, he wanted to tell her to stay and go nowhere near her father’s cult. Professionally, he knew he couldn’t allow his personal prejudices and feelings to compromise her future. Whatever emotions she stirred in him, she was still his patient. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Sitting next to the psychiatrist, watching the sunset, Sorcha was no less torn. She envied Fox the memories and relationships that enriched his life: his professional career; the affection he and his aunt shared for each other; the karate trophies; even the photographs of his murdered family. Good and bad, they all informed Fox of his identity and anchored his place in the world. If she returned home with Regan Delaney, her own memories and relationships could eventually be restored to her — along with a deeper understanding of her synaesthesia. Her father clearly wanted her. He had come for her and was committed to her return. By going back with him she would belong with someone again. She had assumed that rediscovering her past self was what she wanted more than anything in the entire world but it wasn’t that simple any more. Her father was a stranger to her and although she desperately wanted to rediscover her place in the world, she couldn’t escape the fact that she didn’t want to leave. Specifically, she didn’t want to leave Fox. “Do I stay or do I go?”
Fox said nothing for a while. “This isn’t a medical decision… Sorcha. Clinically there’s little reason for you to stay at Tranquil Waters much longer. Despite your amnesia your brain scans show no physiological abnormalities. You sleep without medication; you have no symptoms of clinical depression. You’re eating’s OK and you’re physically fine. I’d be discharging you soon, anyway, because it’s important to get you on with your life in the real world. The real question is whether you want to return to your old life with your father and his cult, or start a new life with support here in Portland?”
“What do you think I should do, Nathan?” she pressed.
“It doesn’t matter what I think. Only you can know whether you need to resolve your past before you decide your future. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t want to find out where you came from and who you were. In your position I’d probably want to learn as much as possible about the person I once was before I embarked on the rest of my life.”
“You want me to go back?”
“I don’t want you to go back,” he said gently. “As your psychiatrist, I’d have liked more time to help you understand your synaesthesia but, aside from your amnesia, you're perfectly healthy. This isn’t a medical choice. It’s a life choice. One you’ve got to make yourself. It’s your past and your future.”
As he looked down at the lake’s still waters, the depth of her disappointment shocked her. She suddenly realized that, however much she wanted to go home, she would have stayed if he had asked her to. How foolish could she have been? Whatever she thought she felt for Fox, she realized that her father was right. Fox saw her primarily as a patient. The only reason he wanted her to stay was to investigate her unique synaesthesia. She might be an interesting case but she was kidding herself if she thought she could ever mean anything more to Nathan ‘never let them get too close’ Fox. Like her father had said: she belonged with her own.
“You’re right. I must decide. And I think I should go home.” She searched his face for a reaction but aside from a small nod he gave nothing away. “I want to thank you, though, for everything. I wish I could do something to repay you and Samantha for all your help and kindness.” She paused. “The offer to go to the Chevron garage and find out what happened still stands.”
Fox shook his head. “Thanks. But no thanks.” He reached into his jacket. “You can do one thing for me, though.” He retrieved a sleek black phone from his pocket. “You can take this as a parting gift. Its’ got all my numbers programmed in. If you need me for any reason, whenever or wherever, just call me.”
“I can't take this.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not my work phone. I only bought it because I like gadgets and wanted a separate phone without any sensitive patient data on it. The truth is I hardly use it. Take it. Put it in your pocket. Seriously, call me whenever you want.”
“As my psychiatrist?”
He shook his head. “I’ll no longer be your psychiatrist. Just call me if you need me — or want to talk about anything.” He smiled and gestured to the watching police. “It’ll be dark soon and they’re getting jumpy. We’d better go back.”
She rose from the bench and followed him toward the lights of the clinic. “Yes. I suppose it is time to go back.”
Chapter 31
Regan Delaney returned to Tranquil Waters the next morning. After a number of formalities, including an interview with the police, his daughter was released to him just before eleven o’clock. The clinic had assured Delaney that his privacy would be respected and the media would be told only that she had left the clinic and returned to her family.
As Sorcha Delaney said her goodbyes and thanked all those who had treated her, the somber mood was reflected by a gray sky, dark with low clouds. Delaney, however, felt anything but somber. When his daughter sat beside him in the red Toyota Landcruiser and the door slammed shut behind her, he experienced a triumphant rush of excitement. He wouldn’t admit to relief, however, because that would mean acknowledging the possibility of Sorcha deciding not to return with him. Men seldom rejected him. Women never.
He frowned when he watched her wave to Dr. Fox. Although the psychiatrist had never let his professional manner slip, Delaney sensed both the man’s distrust of him and the mutual attachment between Fox and Sorcha. Once Delaney drove his daughter into the wilderness their bond couldn’t threaten his plans, but it still rankled. She had even insisted on taking time out to say goodbye to Fox’s aunt. As he pulled away from the clinic, he watched Fox waving in the rear-view mirror and frowned at the memory of their last exchange. Though he had thanked and praised Fox effusively for helping his daughter, the psychiatrist had coolly held his gaze, impervious to his charm offensive. “It was a pleasure,” he had replied. “Just make sure you look after her now.”
Had the self-righteous quack been preaching to him? Or, worse, had he been threatening him?
Either possibility sparked a surge of anger within Delaney, which he quickly suppressed. Anger was unnecessary. He had his prize. He glanced at Sorcha, marveling at how he — the Seer — had been blind to her value. He kept his eyes on her for as long as he could, expecting her to turn and meet his gaze, but she ignored him, focusing on the sleek black phone Fox had given her. The way she held it, as if it were some kind of talisman, pricked his pride. It symbolized her lack of total commitment to him.
“Are you happy, Sorcha?”
She nodded but kept her eyes on the damned phone.
Softening his voice, he purged it of anger. “Look at me. You’re returning home to where you belong. To where you’re valued.”
She turned to him and managed a small smile. “I know.”
“You don’t need these people. We’ll help you explore your gift better than any psychiatrist. He doesn’t really care for you. Not like your family does.” He gently took the phone from her and turned it off. Then he opened the window. “Perhaps it’s ti
me to throw away these meaningless distractions.”
“No.” She reached out and grabbed it back. “It’s not meaningless. It’s a gift.” She touched her locket. “One of the few things in this world I know to be mine.”
“But it’s useless. Where we’re going cell phones don’t work.”
“I don’t care. He gave it to me.”
He tried one more time. “To discover new lands, Sorcha, you must lose sight of the shore.”
She held the phone to her chest. “I’m not trying to discover new lands, Father. I’m trying to reclaim old ones.”
Both lapsed into silence and as Delaney turned east toward Highway 84, neither he nor his daughter noticed the anonymous white four-wheel drive following three cars behind.
Neither Professor Fullelove nor Chief of Detective Jordache had expressed any qualms about releasing Fox’s patient to her father and his cult. Not only was it Sorcha’s legal decision to leave the clinic but Fullelove had been visibly relieved to surrender responsibility for her. After ruling Delaney out as a suspect — he didn’t fit the description of the killer and had been out of town for the murders — Jordache had been similarly relaxed about Sorcha leaving with her father. From a police perspective the only practical reason for her to stay was to act as bait, but that was neither ethical nor practical given her father’s insistence on leaving Portland with his daughter. Moving Sorcha out of harm’s way freed up the officers on her security detail and gave him one less thing to worry about.
Fox, however, couldn’t shake off the disquiet he had felt ever since Sorcha’s father had arrived to claim her. He had no evidence against Delaney and his Indigo Family and knew his hatred of cults was born of what had happened to his family and his experience with a few patients. Nevertheless, as he watched the car drive away, he found it hard to maintain his previous detachment. Not only was he ambushed by loss, an emotion to which he had strived to become immune, but also he feared he had somehow failed to protect her. I did the right thing, he told himself. She was my patient and I put her needs first. Still, the knowledge that he could have kept her from leaving tormented him. When she had asked him if she should stay he could have convinced her to start a new life in Portland. But he hadn’t.
He stifled the sudden urge to call the phone he had given her. What would he say? As he pondered this, his BlackBerry began ringing. Perhaps she had changed her mind? Perhaps she wanted to come back? He reached for the BlackBerry and checked the display but the call wasn’t from his iPhone.
He picked up. “Fox.”
“Dr. Nathan Fox?”
“Yes.”
“My name’s Connor Delaney. My secretary said you’d called. How can I help you?”
“Thanks for getting back to me, Mr. Delaney.” The bird had flown: Regan Delaney’s Toyota Landcruiser was long gone. Whatever Connor Delaney had to tell him now was academic. “I was calling on behalf of a patient of mine, about your brother, but—”
“What’s he done now?”
“Nothing. I was just hoping to find out a bit more about him, that’s all, to discover what sort of person he is. And to ask what you know about his cult?”
He heard a groan, then a humorless laugh. “Regan and his goddamn Indigo Family. Short answer is, don’t let your patient anywhere near him or his cult.”
“Why?”
Connor must have detected the alarm in his voice because he stopped laughing. “You really want to know about Regan and his cult?”
Fox took a deep breath. “Yes.”
“You’re in Portland, right? You can be at the stud in less than two hours. Jump on a plane to Sacramento and I’ll tell you all about the cult and exactly what kind of person my poisonous, egotistical, psychotic brother is.”
Chapter 32
Father and daughter drive for hours, heading east along Highway 84. Leaving civilization far behind, Sorcha soon found herself in deep wilderness, amid forest-clad mountains, rushing rivers and waterfalls. The only evidence of man was the ribbon of tarmac they drove on. As she stared at the panoramic vista, the road ahead seemed as unknowable as her future and the road behind as empty as her past. And yet the land was somehow familiar and comforting in a way the city had never been. For the first time since she had lost herself she had a sense of coming home.
Her father turned off the main highway and took increasingly smaller roads until they came to a place where the tarmac stopped. Named, appropriately, Road’s End, it boasted a solitary gas pump, a run-down diner, a grocery store and not much else. They stopped for petrol and a bathroom break, and filled up with coffee and burgers. The few people they encountered didn’t smile or greet them. Just watched them warily, especially her father. “Do they know you?” she asked.
“My people do business here occasionally,” he said. “Barter mostly.”
“They don’t seem very friendly.”
“People always fear what they don’t understand.” He got back in the Toyota, engaged the four-wheel drive, and turned off the tarmac onto a barely discernible earth track, which snaked its way through sloping sunlit meadows until it disappeared into a dark forest. He turned on the headlights. “This is best done on horseback but the four-by-four can handle it.”
As her father drove deep into the forest, the large vehicle barely squeezing through the gaps, he seemed to follow an invisible track that threaded through the dense trees. Eventually, approaching seven o’clock in the evening, the car emerged into lush pasture, bordered by a rushing stream, which the last rays of the setting sun transformed, as if by some magical alchemy, into gold. Ahead was a painted metal sign: Private Property. Keep Out.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “Is this land yours?”
“It’s ours, all of it. As far as the eye can see.” He smiled and checked his watch. “We need to keep going if we want to get home before dark.” He gunned the accelerator. “Sunset’s in less than two hours.”
Within the hour they arrived at a small rise that looked down upon the settlement. Seeing it in the glow of twilight made her sigh with pleasure, although she had no recollection of ever having been here before. Why would she have ever left such a place? Contained in a natural bowl, bounded at the front by the bend of the river and at the back by a densely wooded rise, the cluster of wooden barns and cabins and single white stone tower seemed to emerge organically from the terrain as if planted there. Although her father’s dominion stretched to thousands of acres, this was its heart. The place was every inch the Eden her father had described back at Tranquil Waters. As they descended into the bowl they passed a field of ripening corn and a large orchard. Ahead she could see neat lawns, crop fields and pastures teeming with cows and sheep. At first she thought a wooden paddock fence marked the perimeter of the settlement, until she realized it corralled a herd of beautiful horses. There was no continuous fence around the settlement: the bend of the river at the front and the dense forest at the rear acted as natural boundaries. A bridge was the only way in and out. There was a gate across it and a gatehouse. The gate was open but a large sign informed trespassers to get off the land or risk being shot.
As they approached, she found her eyes drawn away from the gilded setting to the large crowd gathered by the bridge. It seemed as if the entire population of the settlement — at least two hundred people — had come to greet her. All wore simple clothes in a variety of faded colors but a few, including the two guards manning the gatehouse, wore conspicuously bright purple-indigo tunics over their clothes. The disproportionately large number of women and children in the crowd surprised her. As the Toyota drove closer she could see their faces, excited and expectant. “You’ve got quite a reception committee,” Delaney said, smiling.
Over the bridge, he stopped the car and helped her out. People began calling her name: “Sorcha. Sorcha.” The passion of their welcome unnerved her. Most of the crowd, with a few exceptions, possessed an aura of deep blue or indigo. And each sported a matching colored spot on their forehead. They all seemed
to know her but when she searched their faces she saw only strangers. Any sense of familiarity and homecoming she had felt when leaving the city evaporated and she suddenly wished Fox was by her side.
As she followed her father through the crowd, it was clear that they were devoted to him. All bowed to him and tapped their foreheads in greeting. Some reached out to touch his arm or shoulder. All referred to him as the Seer. She noticed the corralled horses running in frantic circles as if catching the excited mood and the spectacle triggered a memory. She looked up at the round, windowless tower which dominated the settlement and stopped walking. Just below its conical slate roof, embedded in the white walls, a large mosaic eye of purple-blue crystals stared down at her. Her mouth dried and her chest tightened. The circling horses, the high tower and the giant eye were the stuff of her nightmares. She had definitely been to this Eden before. Suddenly, despite her unease, she felt tantalizingly close to remembering all that had happened here. As the crowd surrounded her, trapping her, she turned to see the indigo-clad guards close the gate bridge behind her. Nervously she scanned the dizzying, claustrophobic whirl of faces, half expecting to see the demonic pursuer of her nightmares. As she stepped out of the sun’s dying rays and into the shadow of the looming tower, she pointed upwards. “I remember that.”
Delaney’s eyes narrowed. “What? The tower?”
“Yes. And the eye.” She could hear her voice trembling but wasn’t sure if it was excitement or fear.
“I told you you'd remember things,” he soothed, taking her hand. “I’ll explain everything later. Now, come with me.” Trestle tables, laden with drink and food, had been arrayed in rows outside one of the great barns, and a whole pig was roasting on a spit over an open fire. Her father led her to the main table where three women in indigo robes greeted them. One was heavily pregnant and another carried a newborn baby. All were smiling at her but she also detected scrutiny in their eyes. The youngest, the blonde, dipped a finger in a pot of dye and pressed it to her father’s forehead. The mark it left was a different color from any of the other dots. Then, using the same dye, she pressed her finger to Sorcha’s forehead. As everyone sat at the tables her father smiled at her. “It must seem a bit overwhelming but everyone wants to celebrate your homecoming.” Then he stood, raised his hands and projected his voice over the crowd. “On this beautiful evening, days from Esbat, we welcome back our precious daughter, Sorcha. Her ordeal among the sub-indigos has stolen her memory, but we must give thanks that she has returned safely to us from the children of men. Soon we fast for Esbat but tonight we celebrate…”
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