Archetype (15 page)

I
stiffen toward my husband, who is having a hard time meeting my eyes. Finally, he takes my hand and pulls me from the bedroom. A fire rages and crackles in the fireplace already. He leads me to the couch and leaves me to tend the fire, which does not need tending. He kneels and jabs a poker into the glowing embers. Sparks fly and explode; logs snap. The orange blaze reflects in his unblinking eyes and flickers over his skin, at war with the shadows there.

“They took you from our home,” he says. “We lived in the suburbs of Richmond. Gated community, parks, swimming pool in the backyard. You loved it there. I thought you were safe there.” He glances around the living room, careful to avoid my eyes. “This was only a vacation home.”

“What happened?” I cannot get my voice to rise above a whisper. I am shocked to hear how my accident had something to do with the resistance. The very group I stand accused of working with in my past.

Declan stands and leans into the brick over the fireplace with a single hand. His eyes never leave the fire itself. The muscle working furiously in his jaw distracts me from the fact that it is taking him a long time to answer. “They left you for me to find: broken, scarred beyond recognition . . . paralyzed and lying in a pool of your own blood.” He closes his eyes. “They raped you.”

My body grows numb, detached, like he is speaking of something vile happening to someone else. Not me. I repeat the words in my head. Broken. Scarred. Paralyzed. Raped.

Emma,
She says in a warning tone.
You can’t listen to this.

But I am not listening to Her. The phrase “they raped you” is on repeat in my mind. Especially the last word. “You.” He said “you,” and my mind races to exchange the word with “her.” “You” does not feel right, except he
did
say it. He means me.

Me?

I run mental fingers throughout my entire body, doing an internal examination, searching for evidence of this violation, but come up empty.

Someone violated me in the most personal of ways. Left me for dead.

I clutch at my stomach, sick, and cannot look at him. I cannot stop blinking, as if this will clear my vision of these horrors he speaks of. And now certain things make sense: Declan was so careful with me in the beginning. Hesitant to touch me. Kiss me. Letting our first time making love be my decision.

He runs a hand over his jaw and sighs. Looks away. “Emma, I tried protecting you from this. I’m so sorry.”

I nod, but the movement feels like it comes from someone else’s body. “How—” I stop and clear my throat. “How am I”—I look down at the perfect skin of my hands—“like this? Walking? Without scars?”
Without the luckenbooth,
I add silently.

“What Arthur did was highly experimental, but it worked. And you’re fine. With the exception of your missing memories—probably due to the trauma—there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.”

Except I do have memories. Memories that contradict every word he says to me. Memories of a life nowhere near suburbia or him. Far from it, in fact.

Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?
She says.

Makes me wonder who to trust,
I say.
You feed me the memories.

She says nothing to defend Herself.

The couch dips beside me and I swivel toward Declan. He watches me in that careful way of his. Waits for me to lead him. Will I accept, question, freak out? I do not know which to choose. Maybe all three.

I study his face, all traces of his earlier annoyance gone. “Where did they leave me?” I ask.

His eyes lower and there is the tiniest pulse of muscle below one eye. “You were missing for more than a day. They left you on the side of the road in our neighborhood.” He does not elaborate any further.

“And you found me?” I need answers. Details. Proof. I need him to tell me what to believe.

He turns to face forward and nods. Stares down at his clasped hands.

“Do you not travel by teleporter?”

“Yes. Now I do. I didn’t always.”

“What else did they do? You said I was scarred? How? Where?”

“Emma, you may not remember the details, but I do.” His voice is strained and he closes his eyes. “I understand you have a lot of questions, but is having these details that important to you?”

I stand, wiping my sweaty palms over my pants. How can he ask that? It is selfish of him to keep all the answers. I understand it is painful for him to remember me like that, but this is not about him. This is about me and a past I want—no,
need
—to remember. But more than that, I do not know whom to trust.

But I cannot say this to him, because if I do we will end up fighting, and I do not want to fight with him. Not right now. My urge to be alone is overwhelming. I have to think. I have to make sense of what he has told me versus what She shows me. I need to find the truth in the jumbled mess and black holes that are my mind. And I cannot do this with him watching me.

I round the couch and lift a coat from a hook near the teleporter. It is a small, puffy white thing that I have never worn, as I never go outside the house. I shove inside it and am zipped completely before Declan stands before me, watching all this with narrowed eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I am going outside.” I will not let him control this situation like he does everything else. I never usually mind, but this time is different.

He shakes his head. “Emma, I don’t think that’s—”

“I
am
going outside,” I say and force my feet into matching boots. My jaw aches from clenching my teeth and my skin flushes with angry heat. “I need to be alone. I need to walk and think and I need you to not watch me do it for once.”

He opens and then promptly closes his mouth. After a moment, he nods. “Okay, but as for the security feed—”

I huff out a frustrated breath. “You never let me out of your sight. I cannot do anything without you watching over my shoulder. Do you not ever just want to be completely alone? I want space to scream and cry and yell if I feel the need, and I do not want you watching me do it.” Tears race from my eyes before I can stop them. “Please. Just leave me alone for once. We are isolated from the world up here. What harm is there?”

His eyes dart back and forth over my face, his lips thin. “You’re right,” he finally says. He looks down and away, blinking rapidly. He breathes out slowly. “You should be alone. It’s just that you’re my entire world, Emma. I have a hard time giving you freedom because I can’t lose you. Not again.”

He shakes his head as if to clear it. “Don’t listen to me. Try not to be too long, and stay close. There are some rocky cliffs to the west. They aren’t far and they’re dangerous. They could be icy. Not to mention the daylight is waning.”

I do not respond and I stride over to the sliding glass on the other side of the dining room table. I yank it aside and barely give myself time to react to the shock of cold before stepping out onto the pale wood of the outside decking. It is amazing to me how this house with all its glass can manage to hold the heat.

“Emma, wait,” Declan calls out.

I turn to find him jogging toward me with something in his hands. When he is near, I recognize the white beanie and gloves. He wordlessly pulls the hat down over my head. I take the gloves and he lifts my chin, his eyes intense as they look into mine. Finally, he leans down to kiss me. His warm lips press softly and linger. His palms cup my cheeks. When he pulls away, his thumbs blot the remaining trails of tears.

“Please be careful,” he whispers.

I nod and turn away from him, pushing my hands into the gloves. The glass slides shut behind me, and though the sound is soft, it makes me jump. While the idea of being out here had seemed like a good idea before, I suddenly realize what I am in for. The deck is wide and circles the house. Deck furniture sits under the overhang against the outer walls with a light dusting of snow. But where the overhang ends, where the wind can only push it so far, the thick snow forms a nearly perfect line.

I stop with my toes kissing this soft edge, but only long enough to take a deep breath. There is nothing to fear from the snow. It is only frozen water. I will not find any dead bodies out here. Just a perfect spread of untouched winter. Winter has its own beauty, does it not? The way the snow shimmers like diamonds in the failing sunlight?

I make my first foot impression in the snow. Then my second. And I keep going until cold seeps through my boots and blankets my toes. And still I continue. I focus on the sounds of my feet crunching the perfect surface with each step and try to slow my heart to my slower-paced steps. I watch my breath crystallize into clouds before my eyes and disappear in time for the next cloud to materialize.

I reach the tree line and find the snow thinner and in patches. The dense woods make it difficult for the snow to penetrate. Inside the cluster, my lungs expand to breathe to their fullest capacity, overwhelming my senses with the scent of juniper trees. Each step crunches, not with snow, but with fallen needles and branches.

Though frozen to my core, I am already calmer. Clearer headed. I just wish my urge to cry and the ache in my throat would go away. I do not want to cry. I do not want to feel so emotionally unbalanced, but it is hard when I just found out what those people did to me.

What the resistance did to me.

The resistance Charles Godfrey accused me of working with? The same resistance Noah Tucker would kill me to prevent me from becoming a part of again? Is Noah part of this resistance as well? He wanted to know what my orders were as if I received them from outside the group, not within it. As if the orders were to infiltrate in some way.

Did you think you could slide right back into place?

He abhorred the idea, but not in the way Charles had. He acted as if I were a traitor.

Foster trusted me.
You talk a good game, but when it comes down to it, you’re doing what you were meant to do. You were born for this.

If I am to believe these dream memories, I trusted him, too. That, and he did not try to kill me in the gallery last month. He did not alert the troops in his shock.

Or did he?

Maybe Foster is the reason Noah knew where to find me and when. The idea of Foster giving me up feels like the deepest of betrayals. I sense from the dreams he is my closest friend, but the truth is, I do not know him.

I do not know myself. I do not know what I have done to deserve a death sentence that has failed twice now—I have to believe the rape and torture was their first attempt. Somehow Declan saved me, only the resistance did not know until Foster found me in the gallery.

Who am I supposed to trust? This voice in my head showing me a life I cannot make sense of? She protects these people with a fierceness that would kill us both if I so much as breathe a word against them.

Or should I trust my husband, whom I love, but who also tells me things that contradict everything I have come to believe is real? He lies about something as simple as the length of our marriage. What else does he lie about?

In my mind’s eye, I see Declan’s heartache while recalling the memories of finding me. He seemed so sincere. And yet, he has seemed sincere from the very beginning.

If there is anyone I know for certain I cannot trust, it is Noah. He had his chance to explain how he knew me at the gallery, but he didn’t. Why is that? To protect himself, no doubt. He does not know I remember how he kept me in a tank of water. I was conscious of my surroundings, thinking clearly, so why? I can think of no medical reason no matter how often Sonya referred to me as a patient.

The tree line comes to an end and a wide chasm spreads out before me. Mountains rise and fall all around, dark with shadow on the side the setting sun does not touch. Gray rocks erupt from the snow in front of me and form jagged edges as well as smooth ones. They do not look icy, and I want to see over the side, so I tread carefully with arms out to balance myself.

A lake lies below. Not far, either. Farther to my right, the side of the mountain slopes in an easy trail to the water. When the weather warms, the lake will be my first destination. Right now, though, there is a layer of ice over the surface. The surface turns black in the growing night, and I decide it is time to head back. Or at least get away from the edge.

I shiver involuntarily as I picture how falling over the side would mean ending up crashing into the frozen lake. Would the ice freeze over me? Trap me underwater? That would be a torturous way to die.

I pull to an abrupt halt and freeze. That is it. The reason for the tank. Torture. Declan said they tortured me. Was the water a part of it? In my memory I cannot move. It is as if I am paralyzed just as Declan said he found me.

The sick feeling returns, twisting my stomach. It is all beginning to make sense. The dreams are memories of what happened to me. What Noah did to me. I have been wrong to doubt my husband. He protects me, and though I may not like the way he goes about it sometimes, his intentions are admirable. I can put my trust in him, but not Noah. . . . Never Noah.

Noah Tucker is my enemy.

D
eclan is cooking dinner when I return. I have no way of knowing how long I have been gone, but I am utterly frozen. I cannot feel my face or fingers or toes. But the fog of confusion in my head has lifted. I will trust my husband and be wary of anything She shows me from now on.

The heat inside the house coats me and sends a painful tingle over my skin as I begin to thaw.

Declan turns at the sound of the sliding glass and removes the pan from the heat. He chuckles. “Your nose is red.” He hurries over and helps me out of my coat. “Go stand by the fire. I’ll pour you a bourbon.”

Alcohol is something I tend to decline, but tonight I want nothing more. I step down into the living room and see a tablet computer sitting on the couch. An angry flush heats my chest because he only brings this out to check security feeds. He promised he would not watch me.

I pick it up and swipe to unlock the screen. The security feeds to at least ten areas fill the screen. They are the usual ones he tends to monitor constantly, the house being one of them. I open my mouth to accuse him of watching me when I notice that the square for the house is dark. He turned off the feed as I requested.

Declan steps down the stairs, a glass in each hand, an eyebrow raised. “I promised, didn’t I? Need to check up on me?”

I shake my head and drop the tablet on the couch. “No, sorry, I guess not.” I take the glass of amber liquid he offers. “Thanks.”

He brushes my hair back behind my ear and kisses my forehead. “Better?”

I shrug a single shoulder and turn to stand in front of the fire. “I guess. I do not feel as jumbled or unfocused.”

I sip the bourbon, and in seconds, warmth spreads around my center. I take a larger drink, and fingers of heat lick up to my limbs and swirl in my head.

Behind me, Declan reaches out to set his glass on the mantel and begins rubbing my shoulders. I sink into him and close my eyes. How could I have ever doubted him? He makes me feel safe and will do anything in his power to make sure I remain so.

I place my glass on the mantel and turn to face him. He caresses my cheeks, smooths back my hair.

I wrap my arms around his waist. “Can we just forget everything that happened tonight? I do not want this hanging over us, making things awkward.”

He kisses the space between my eyes. “Anything you want.”

“Then can we skip dinner?” I look up to find his eyebrows pinching. I chuckle. “I think you will enjoy the alternative.”

To show him what that alternative entails, I lift my shirt over my head and let the fabric fall into a pile at my feet.

 • • • 

The night was warm and the clear sky shone brilliantly with the cluster of light from the Milky Way. He sat behind me, legs on either side, his bare chest—only because I now wore his shirt—pressed gently into my back with slow, even breaths. We sat in comfortable silence, satisfied from making love on the beach.

My painting of the sunset with his recently added luckenbooth and the easel blocked our view of the sky. My discarded sundress lay gently fluttering in the breeze. Dark waves crashed on the shore directly in front of us, practically invisible to the naked eye.

It was a perfect setting and a perfect night.

He kissed the back of my head and brushed my long hair over my left shoulder to kiss my right. A delicious shiver raced across my skin.

“Promise we won’t be gone forever,” I said. “That we’ll come back.”

“Promise. And whenever we’re feeling the pressure of our lives and want to get away again, all we have to do is look up.”

I looked up as if commanded. “The stars?”

He chuckled. “Not just any stars. There are entire stories up there, Emma. It’s like reading the best books in the universe. We can get away anytime we want.”

“Pray tell.”

“Okay, well . . .” He trailed off and shifted behind me. Then he pointed nearly straight up. “There, look. Three constellations clustered together. Perseus.”

“I know that one,” I said. “Killed Medusa and saved the princess from the sea monster.”

“Saved Andromeda from Cetus, yes,” he said, sounding amused. “He’s connected to Taurus, who is connected to Orion.”

I twisted but saw only a dark shadow of him in my peripheral. “Taurus is an astrological sign, I thought. Aren’t you a Taurus?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point of this assignment, Ms. Wade.” He chuckled and nuzzled my ear with his nose. “Pay attention.”

Grinning, I looked into the sky. “If I knew which ones you were talking about, you might be able to hold my attention a little better.”

He swiped a somewhat even surface into the sand and drew a bunch of dots, then outlined around them until I saw the shape of the constellation Taurus the Bull. I searched for the grouping in the sky and found it after a good ten seconds or so.

“It’s not just an astrological sign,” he said. “That’s a story about Zeus and how he fell in love.” His palms ran over my arms until they found my hands. His lips lay right over my ear when he continued. “He disguised himself as a white bull in order to attract the princess Europa. Drawn to his beauty, she climbed right onto his back. Once he had her, he swam to the island Crete where he turned into his true form and made love to her.”

When he didn’t continue, I said, “That’s it?”

He laughed. “Is there anything better than making love to the woman you love?”

I shook my head. “Where’s mine?”

“Virgo?” He points straight ahead and then below the dark horizon. “Can’t see her.”

“Does she have a story as good as yours?”

I felt his shoulders lift in a shrug. “She’s a virgin.”

I laughed. “That’s all?”

He chuckled and burrowed his face into my neck, laying a trail of kisses over my skin. “Only that she’s identified with a lot of heroines, one being Ceres, the goddess of the harvest.”

“How boring.”

“You said it, not me.”

I sent an elbow back into his ribs. “I like the heroine part, though. The heroine and the bull.”

“We’ll storm a lot of castles, my wife and I.”

“Mmmm, say that again.”

“Which part?”

“The wife part.”

He chuckled. “Emma Wade, my wife till death do us part.”

 • • • 

I snap awake to a crackling fire and Declan kneeling in front of it, stoking the embers. He is shirtless, and the reflection of flames dances over his skin.

She is very cunning to wait until now to produce this particular memory. I want nothing more than to remember my life again, the life where only he and I existed. My stomach twists with the next thought:
My husband
and I. There is both relief and anguish in this revelation. I have never been unfaithful to Declan but have somehow lost a love so great that it breaks through the barriers of my mind to remind me of what I once had.

I come up on an elbow, forcing these feelings away, and pull the blanket higher up over my bare chest. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Not long. A half hour maybe.” Declan crawls over and kisses me until I am lying back down. A hand cups the back of my head and he moans. “You’re amazing,” he says over my lips.

He is being playful and loving and I hate myself because to reciprocate right now after the dream I just had would feel traitorous. But to whom, I do not know. So instead of answering, I trace fingertips over his jaw and lips.

The next sound surprises both of us. Declan looks down between us where my stomach just growled and laughs. “You’re hungry. I can have dinner heated up in a few minutes.” Then, with a final, small kiss, he bounds up to his feet.

I sit up to watch him pad barefoot into the kitchen. He is in jeans that hang low around his waist, a look that usually warms my insides but now fills me with guilt. How can I love him so much, then dream of someone else whom I love with an intensity that takes my breath away? I want to hate Her for showing me these things. For making me so confused. I do not want to be confused anymore. I want to love my husband.

I want to be Emma Burke.

So why do I long for this man on a beach in Mexico? A man who I cannot admit to myself is the one man I have also decided is my enemy. All arrows point straight to Noah Tucker being this man. The dream man speaks of populating the world with our children. With “little Tuckers.” At the show, Noah was the only one who saw the luckenbooth carefully hidden in the painted sand. The same luckenbooth the dream man painted. Had Noah referenced this very memory?

You’re vacillating,
She says.

No. I am not. I decided outside. At the very least, I know who I am right now. Emma Burke. I do not care what happened to me eight months ago, let alone eight years. Now is all that matters.

You will care,
She whispers.

No, I do not think I will. Declan is the man I love, and he loves me. And maybe he is not the man on the beach, but does it matter anymore? Noah, if he is indeed that man, clearly did not care about my being married to someone else. The past is gone. Time to move on.

With that said, I still find myself searching for a single star through the glass wall behind the dining room table. Only I see nothing more than the glow of moonlight.

“Declan?” I say. “Do you know anything about constellations?”

He glances briefly over his shoulder with a puzzled look on his face. “Not really, why?”

I shake my head and force a small smile. “No reason. I was just dreaming about one is all. I cannot remember the story anymore.”

“What was the constellation and I’ll look it up for you.”

I contemplate telling him Taurus but say, “Orion.” It was the one story I did not hear in the dream.

He laughs. “You know what, I do know that one. I used to look for Orion’s belt growing up. I guess the story goes that Orion and a goddess were in love, but her brother, Apollo, didn’t like the match. Apollo tricked her into killing Orion.”

I frown. “How sad.”

He nods but it is halfhearted. “Or very cunning on Apollo’s part. He knew what he wanted and made sure he got it done without getting his hands dirty. Smart.”

Standing, I wrap the blanket around myself and shuffle into the bedroom. I leave the light off and cross the room to look out into the night sky. The sky is not as clear as it was in my dream, nor can I find the constellation I really want to see. The one that will remind me of a better time, in the arms of a different man, who told me stories of love. Not death.