meant or not. But she didn’t release her grip. Abby would’ve approved.
“Well, don’t you worry, sweetie.” She was my age, thirty, or a few years younger and calling me sweetie as if I were five. “God might test you, but he rewards you, too. There’s always a balance. For the burden you carry now, you’ll have equal joy. That’s a promise. Have faith that you have good things coming to you. And if you need to talk while you’re here, I’m your nurse. Your advocate. My duty is to you first before anyone else, even your doctor. I’ll do anything to help you. I mean that.” Her green eyes were determined enough to show that when she was on your side, she was totally on your side, and ruthless in her credo and devotion if she had to be.
“Eden? Is he awake?” A ringless hand pushed the curtain back, and Meleah stepped through. It was hard to think of her as Dr. Guerrera now. Not when Charlie and I could remember her sitting on a lawn with a lap full of yapping puppies or stringing lights on a Christmas tree in an old, snug T-shirt and cheery pink pajama pants with a hole in the knee. And then there was another picture of her, watercolor soft, curled naked in simple cotton sheets the color of buttercups. She was round and full, with a crescent-shaped scar dark on her copper-colored hip.
“Just now, Dr. Guerrera.” Eden let go of my hand and patted it, just like my grandmother had always done. “I’ll see if I can find him something to eat.” Then she was gone, and I was alone with Meleah.
“How are you feeling?”
I thought about it for a moment, cataloguing my aches and pains. “Like shit,” I said honestly.
“That’s probably to be expected, considering what you’ve been through.” She picked up a clipboard that had been hanging off the foot of my bed and began jotting things down. “Could you be a shade more specific? It might make the difference between Tylenol and brain surgery.” There was a hint of a smile on her lips.
With that motivation, I became a little more verbal. “My head hurts, and I’m stiff pretty much all over.”
She nodded. “That’s to be expected. You gave your head a good knock, front and back, and you’re bound to have muscle soreness from the seizure. I’ll give you a mild painkiller and a muscle relaxant. You’ll feel better.” Finishing with my chart, she added soberly, “I’ll tell Hector you’re awake. He’s been worried.”
“I’ll bet.” The words didn’t have the same acid burn that they would’ve before I’d touched that bracelet. It was harder to hate him when I’d seen him grow up through Charlie’s eyes. Harder but not impossible. “You can tell him his guinea pig is alive and kicking. He’ll be thrilled.” More resigned than cutting, but at the moment, off-balance and out of sorts in my body, it was the best I could do.
She sighed and ran absent fingers along the long braid that trailed across her breast. “He’s a good man, like Charlie was. A good man in an extremely bad situation. I wish you could see that.”
I could see that, if I looked through Charlie’s eyes. But I could look through my eyes, too. The picture there was different. Sharper-edged, less forgiving. Like me. And oddly enough, despite having read Charlie now, having collected his life… I still didn’t know what Hector and Thackery wanted with me.
What Charlie and his project-and it had been his brainchild-had been trying to achieve had a superficial resemblance to a psychic event… or in my book, so-called event. But that was it, superficial. It was science, crazy and out there but science nonetheless. What the hell could I do to further the project now that Charlie was gone? And someone had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to make sure it hadn’t worked to begin with. Murder in this kind of closed-doors facility was a high-risk investment and definitely a lot of trouble.
“I see all sorts of things,” I replied matter-of-factly as I slipped my glove back on. “When Hector gets over here, maybe he can explain to me what some of those things are.” Hector couldn’t have killed Charlie, I was pretty sure of that. Blackmail for a higher cause, one I still didn’t know about, yes, but murder his own brother? Hard to believe. Then again, I’d seen worse come in and out of my shop, and you’d never suspect it from their smiles or sweet little-old-lady faces.
“Beyond stubborn, the both of you.” She shook her head. “I’ll have Eden bring you the pills with breakfast if you’re feeling up for it.”
That answered one question. I’d been out of it for nearly twenty-four hours. More than half the time Thackery said they had left. I was surprised that guy wasn’t in here slapping my face ruthlessly until I woke up. Hector did what had to be done, in his mind, without hesitation, but he did have regrets. The esteemed Dr. Thackery wouldn’t waste a second on regret and probably wouldn’t actually recognize the emotion if it bit him in his cold, uptight ass.
“Breakfast will be…” I checked with my stomach. Dubious, but game. “Okay… I think.”
Fifteen minutes later, Hector showed up with it himself. The tray held a banana, a sealed container of blueberry yogurt, a carton of milk, and a bowl of oatmeal. “Eden called the cafeteria for this. She said to keep it simple and easily digestible. This is the best I could do,” he said quietly.
I watched as he set the tray on the wheeled table beside the bed and expertly pulled the table over my lap. He was back in his lab coat and was sporting sleepless lines and bloodshot eyes. “What, Hector?” I asked. “Long night? Too bad. I slept like a baby.” I opened the milk. “Or someone who was put in a coma by an asshole. Take your pick.” Considering that Hector, as far as I could tell, didn’t know that his brother had died in agony, much less had been murdered, I wasn’t being fair. I felt a pang over that before I remembered where being fair had gotten me in life.
Here.
Hector was more than aware of who said asshole was, but he didn’t bother to put up a defense. Pulling up a chair, he sat heavily, much of his natural grace in abeyance. “I thought I’d killed you, Jackson,” he said wearily. “Believe it or not, there’s not much you can say to make me feel worse. I’m right there in the moment: Callous Bastard of the Year.”
And there came that taste of Charlie. A shuffling of pages, a fanning of faded photographs. Hector joining the Army to pay for his college so Charlie wouldn’t be put in the position of being financially responsible for his younger brother. Because of that, Charlie had been able to work his own way through school along with quite a few scholarships and grants. MIT wasn’t cheap even with those things. What Hector had done had made it possible for Charlie, made it possible for them both.
Grumbling silently at myself, I felt the dark-edged emotions lighten some. I fought it, but you can’t escape knowledge, not really, even when it’s not your own. Ripping the foil off the yogurt, I said almost under my breath, “Maybe you’ll get a plaque in the mail.”
He blinked, confused at a comment that was far less razor-edged than what he expected. “Maybe. So… how are you doing?”
I took a few spoonfuls of the yogurt and gave it a moment. When my stomach accepted it without incident, I moved on to the oatmeal. “Didn’t you ask the doc?” I asked with a knowing quirk of my eyebrow. Of course, he had. He might have all the regrets in the world, but he still needed me for some reason. There wasn’t anything about my health that he wasn’t going to know.
“Yes, I did,” he responded, leaning back in the chair and washing a hand over his tired face. He kept his eyes on me, though, somber. Sincere. “But now I’m asking you, and I don’t just mean physically.”
Ah. Talking about your innermost crap. First Eden, now Hector. Like the few times Abby showed up with the chick-flick movies and forced me and Houdini to suffer through the talk, talk, talk that fixed everyone’s problems, enriched their lives, and closed the hole in the ozone layer, all while she snuffled with her own box of Kleenex. What fun. Yeah, right… maybe later.
“Charlie was your brother, Hector, not mine. He was my roommate for a while and a nice kid, but that was a lifetime ago. A memory.” The banana was a little soft, but I ate it anyway. Concentrating on it was easier than concentrating on other things.
“A memory,” he repeated, then dropped the hammer. “Fine, I’ll accept that’s what he was before, but what is he now?”
Christ. He had to go there, didn’t he? He couldn’t let me enjoy the goddamn banana, he had to push it. I pushed the table and tray away, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and stood. “Where’s the bathroom?”
Eyes narrowed on me. “You’re stalling.”
“I’ve been in this bed almost twenty-four hours, and you think I’m stalling?” I folded my arms. “Hey, if it’s proof you want, pick a spot. I’m up for a challenge. I think I’ve got enough to spell my name and yours.”
He snorted. “I stand corrected. It’s down about fifteen feet and on your right.”
He was right, of course. I was stalling, but that didn’t make the need any less pressing. By the time I came back, I was feeling slightly more relaxed. The fact that I’d actually been able to walk there and back without anyone holding my hand or standing guard helped more than I would’ve guessed. Naturally, there would be someone outside the infirmary door to make sure I didn’t make a break for it, but I still wasn’t going to take that tiny bit of
