Indelible (9 page)

“One article said many small children have it to some degree.”

“That’s true. Mine was extreme and didn’t fade. I had to develop methods of controlling it.”

“Art therapy?”

Again she looked surprised.

“You’re a sculptor.”

He’d put time and thought into it. “When I form images in clay, it processes them to a part of the brain that can let go.”

“Until then it just sticks?”

She shrugged.

“And you were born with it.”

“At one, they showed me books, then replaced them with blank-page versions. They’d ask, ‘Where is the bunny?’ and I’d touch it on the blank white page.”

“Cool.”

“At two, I colored complicated images I was shown onto a blank easel. The easel was only blank to them. By three, the overload of images demanded management, but because I wasn’t able to distinguish essential and nonessential, the ones with the highest emotional impact stayed front and center.”

A flicked glance revealed him fully engaged.

“I suffered night terrors and withdrew—severely. My parents removed me from preschool and ceased all testing and experiments. I was reading at a third-grade level, but refused to open a book, watch a movie, or interact with anyone. They put the TV in the closet and spent most of the next two years outdoors where the vista broadened to a degree I processed less traumatically.”

“Wow.”

Thinking back always made her realize her family’s sacrifice. “The high points of my life were Aaron’s Little League games, partly because the focus was away from me and my weird abilities. And I adored Aaron.”

She wandered over to another series of photographs. “I guess you like to ski.”

“I can’t compete anymore.”

Compete. She noticed the sports magazine covers on the next higher shelf and pointed to one. “Is that an Olympic banner?”

“The year I tore up my ligaments and shattered my kneecap.”

“Ouch.” He’d been a professional, a consummate athlete, and she knew from Aaron what effort that took.

“Speaking of which, do you care if I use the Jacuzzi?” He raised his foot to the back of the couch and rubbed his knee. “That last set of stairs …”

“I knew you shouldn’t—”

“Hey.” He lowered his foot. “It does this. I’ll just give it heat and jets, unless. You want to get in?”

“Your Jacuzzi?”

“Sara keeps suits here.”

He hot-tubbed with Whit’s wife?

“They’re over here all the time. The spa seats four.”

“Oh.”

“It’s therapy for me, but you don’t have to hurt to get in.”

She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and risked a quick glance up. “I’ll just sit, if that’s okay.”

“You might change your mind.” He led the way to a sparkling, clear spa built into a spacious balcony with a dressing room and towel closet. “If you do, suits are in there.”

He went into an adjoining room and closed the door. She settled onto a cushion on the deck beside the spa, resisting the water’s allure. With today’s hauling, some residual strain from climbing, and all the stress, she imagined how great it would feel—and how disconcerting.

Trevor must have exited the room a different way, because he came back with the wine bottles and set them on the low table.

She sent her glance around the enclosed balcony. “This is really nice.”

Wearing dark green swim trunks, he eased into the water. “This is nicer.” He positioned the damaged knee in a jet.

She dipped her fingers into the frothy water. “You keep it hot.”

“Effectively.” He used a remote to open horizontal panes on the windows, letting in the mountain air. “Tell me if you get chilly. Or you really could get in. I’m not coming on to you.”

“I didn’t imagine you were.” Not with women like Kirstin at his call.

“You’re actually the only person besides Whit and Sara I’ve invited.”

“Why me?” She pulled her feet in under her.

“I was just wondering that.” He set down his glass and adjusted his leg. His knee must really hurt, the way he braced it.

“Are you okay?”

“I will be.”

“I don’t see how you climb and do all you do if it’s that sensitive.”

“It’s not.” He spread his arms across the back. “I jacked it chasing the cougar.”

“Should you have it looked at?”

“No, believe me, there’s nothing more they can do.”

“But you might have reinjured it.”

“I’d know.”

Rescuing Cody had cost him more than she’d realized. His gaze landed on her, but she didn’t return it, not directly.

“So what’s it like having perfect recall?”

“I don’t, really. Not like eidetic savants.”

“Savants like Kim Peek?”

He’d researched thoroughly.

“What did you learn?”

“Peek was missing a part that connects the two sides of the brain. Each of his eyes relayed independent information, so he read the left and right pages of a book simultaneously—and recalled over ninety-eight percent of the twelve thousand books he read.” He extended his pointer. “And Dustin Hoffman played him in
Rain Man.
”

“He was profoundly developmentally challenged.”

“Your brain is obviously connected.”

“Hyperconnected.” She crossed her arms to hide a shiver. In that heat he’d need the cool air. “An MRI resonance showed extraneous activity when I was flashed face cards. That excluded the autism spectrum, since autistics don’t recognize or interpret expressions until they’re taught to. But they had no likely alternative.”

“So what you have is a fluke?”

She considered how to answer that. “Every brain is different. Most share functional characteristics, but there are more anomalies than people think. Some cause disorders, others are considered gifts. Some brains are prodigious. And then there are the savants and super savants.”

“Where are you?”

“If I believed in labels, it would be prodigy.”

He sipped his wine. She watched the rim reach his lips, but looked no farther up his face.

“Sounds pretty cool.”

“You haven’t seen me self-destruct.” She frowned. “Last night, all those faces made me physically ill. I couldn’t get them out fast enough.”

“How did you?”

“I sculpted a face mountain. Everyone who made an appearance.”

“Really?” His reflection formed on the stilled surface as the jets turned off. “Can I see it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She pressed her hands to her eyes. He’d caught her off guard to even mention it.

“You do that a lot.”

“What?”

“Put up a shield.”

He had no concept of the shields she put up.

“Look at me.”

Resigned, she lowered her hands.

There it was again, the stare that in medieval superstition might have identified a seer. He’d wondered about her idiosyncrasies, never really looking at people, always shifting her view. Now he got it. Her prodigious brain held more than she wanted to retain. Given the difficulties she’d described, it took courage to interact at all.

It was also, he hated to admit, uncomfortable to sit there in her view and wonder what she saw. “Knee’s good now. Thanks for letting me soak.” He closed the windows with the remote, stood, and dried off with a towel, then gave her a hand standing up, surprised that she seemed a little unsteady. Must be a lightweight. Her wineglass still held half an inch.

“I’ll be right out.” He changed in his bedroom and met her in the hall. She had unclipped the hair that fell like brown gossamer strands over her collarbones, wreaking havoc with his convictions.

They drove in silence, but he didn’t feel compelled to fill it. Neither, it seemed, did she. Jaz would have fit another thousand words in, prodding
and provoking. Kirstin would have felt ignored. Of course, with her face turned away, he couldn’t really tell what Natalie thought or felt.

He parked behind her studio and placed his hand on her headrest. “I’ll only ask once again, but I’d like to see what came out of last night.”

Staring at her hands, she blew out a slow breath. “Okay.” She let him in through the back, worry creasing her brow as she slid the cloth off a cone-shaped mound on the huge Corian table. A mountain clogged with faces.

He stared. It was like seeing the event again, even the smallest faces reflecting the vibrant evening. Then he realized the most prominently represented were Jaz, Kirstin, and he, the expressions anything but vibrant.

He circled the piece. “There’s Whit and Sara, Tia, the chief, the mayor.” He shook his head. “They were all in there, clamoring to get out?”

“A silent cacophony.”

It was like seeing her soul. “Your wolves and waterfalls are great. But this is … something else altogether.” Prodigious. He returned to his aspect. “Is that how you see me?”

“It was last night.”

“I didn’t mean to be so hard.”

“It was one night.”

He looked at the cloth-covered pieces on the deep wooden shelves. “More?”

She nodded.

“Can I?” He removed the cover from a stunning bust of Sara holding Braden. A present-day Madonna. “These are not only accurate, they’re insightful. Like you see inside.”

“It’s microexpressions.”

He nodded toward a man-sized statue in the corner. “And that one?”

She hesitated, then walked over to it. “It’s the first one I did here. The night Cody was attacked.” She removed the cover.

He could hardly move.

Natalie felt the shaking begin as Trevor stared at the unfired statue.

His body stiffened. “You only saw me once.”

“The image you left was very strong.” Hands pressed to her back, she paced in short quick steps. “If what I capture is emotionally static, it fades. If not, it leaves an indelible imprint—until I transfer it to the clay.”

“That makes you forget?”

“I don’t see it anymore.”

He frowned. “Show me tonight.”

She startled. “You mean you?”

“Show me what you saw. In the spa.” When she shook her head, he took her hand. “I saw you do it—the capture thing. Don’t you need to get it out?”

She lied with another shake of her head.

“Yes, you do.”

Closing her eyes, she jerked her hand free, pulled a mound of clay from the slop bucket onto the wedging surface, then pressed and rolled in a triangular motion until the excess moisture and air bubbles had been expelled. Taking a moment to calm herself, she started in. The aspect formed on the clay, an intense, sensual, haunted man.

She didn’t know why or what she’d seen. She only copied what showed in his face. Finally, chin to her chest, she stepped back.

He rasped, “It’s all there.”

“I’m sorry.”

He stared at the sculpture again, then walked out.

Trembling, Natalie covered it. She’d tried to tell him, but he had forced entrance to the freak show. She washed up, locked the gallery, and went home.

His pride
Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host
Of rebel Angels, by whose aid, aspiring
To set himself in glory above his peers,
He trusted to have equaled the Most High.

T
he sign said
OPEN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS
, in recognition of people for whom day and night were indistinguishable. He went inside, aware that the bulbous mirrors in the corners were in fact surveillance cameras. He had no intention of robbing the store. He would not plunder, not even pilfer.