Zachary had no idea what the last lines meant. All he knew was the woman in his head—the woman he saw every time his grandmother, Edna, sang him his lullaby—would eventually be his.
“Eve! I need you to answer me.”
The tingles in her hand ceased. The electricity racing through her arm faded to harmless static, and she lay suspended in the air. Eve opened her eyes, and the world spun around her.
No, she definitely wasn’t standing. She lay horizontal, her right arm hanging limply at her side and the other arm, like the left side of her torso, squashed against a hard wall of warmth.
“Zachary?”
“Wha—? Jesus!”
Ah, it was the adult voice again. The one she recognized. The deep baritone, like the boom of a drum. Jonah’s voice.
Jonah’s body. That’s what she was pressed against. He held her, one arm beneath her knees, the other around her back.
She looked up at him, dazed. “Who’s Edna?”
Jonah blanched.
And then they were moving. Or rather he was moving, striding down the hotel corridor, carrying her. He came to a stop outside a door, and using the wall and his body to support her, dropped one arm and fished around in his pocket. In seconds he had a key card.
He gave it to her. “Take it, please. Open the door.”
Shakily, she slid the card into the lock as he caught her full weight in his arms once again. She pushed the door open.
Jonah had her inside and lying on a couch before the door clicked shut.
“Lie there.” He pointed at her. “Don’t move. Just take a few deep breaths and I’ll be right back.”
Too dizzy to argue, she dropped her head on the cushion and again closed her eyes. The melody of Grandmother Edna’s song drifted through her mind, but she couldn’t remember the words. What she could remember, vividly, were the emotions little Zachary had felt when he heard the song. When he pictured the redhead.
“Are you up to taking a sip of water?”
His voice was close to her ear, and she turned to look at him. Jonah knelt beside the couch, his face pale, his green gaze agitated.
“I think so.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders again, lifting her upper body and bringing a glass to her lips.
She took a few sips. “Thank you. That’s enough.”
He settled her down and sat back on his feet, staring at her. No matter how fuzzy she felt from her vision, Jonah’s presence still packed a punch. This close, Eve found it difficult to draw adequate breath.
“You wanna tell me what just happened?”
Images assailed her, one after the other.
Jonah holding the rose. Jonah laughing. The plate full of truffles. Jonah, kissing her, blowing her mind, taking her sanity. The lights. Thousands of flashes, blinding her. The race to escape. And finally, his arm, reaching towards her…
“My hand,” she explained.
He stared at her, baffled.
“You held my hand.”
He narrowed his eyes, as though concentrating. “I did.”
“That’s what happened,” she clarified.
Jonah jumped to his feet. “I’m calling reception. We’ll get you a doctor.”
She shook her head, then wished she hadn’t. It made the dizziness worse. “There’s no need for a doctor. I’m fine.”
“Lady,” Jonah said, obviously worried. “No one has ever zoned out on me like that. You need a doctor.”
“You’ve never held my hand before,” she pointed out.
He leaned over and touched her neck. “You’re white as a sheet and making no sense. Please, let me get someone up here to check you out.”
She grabbed his wrist, holding it tight. “I promise, I’m fine. I just need to get my balance back. This always happens afterwards.”
“What always happens? After what?”
“Hands.” She lifted hers and dropped it back down. “I feel dizzy. Discombobulated. But in a few minutes I’ll be right.”
“And this happens after holding my hand?”
“Not just yours.”
“You get dizzy when you hold anyone’s hand?”
“No, only certain people.”
Jonah shoved a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Eve, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She sighed and looked up at the ceiling before closing her eyes again. The giddiness subsided quicker if she kept them shut. “I have a…gift. A talent, you might call it.”
“What kind of gift?”
“The gift of sight.”
Silence, then, “Oh.” More silence. “Huh?”
“I see things. Images, snippets, pieces of people’s lives.”
Her words were met with more silence.
She took a deep, fortifying breath
“Often, when I hold a person’s hand, I’m hit with flashes of that person’s life. Sometimes it’s an image of the past, sometimes the present and sometimes the future. If I don’t know the person well, it’s impossible to tell which it is.”
“Hell.” The word was a whisper.
“Sometimes it’s a picture, like a photograph. Sometimes just words or maybe a conversation I overhear. Maybe I’ll see images, like I’m watching a movie, but there are times when it’s much more than that.”
“Much more how?”
“I merge with the person whose hand I’m holding. Become one with him or her. Instead of seeing the vision like a passive observer, I become part of it. Live it like the person has—or will.”
What Eve neglected to tell Jonah was the latter only happened when the person whose hand she held had significance in her life. It was almost as though the more important that person was to her, the more she saw.
At the best of times, Eve’s visions left her rattled. But this one, this snippet of Jonah’s life, worried her like none ever had before.
She didn’t know the man. Had met him just a few hours ago. They’d shared nothing more than harmless conversation and a few roses. Oh, yeah, and a soul-shattering kiss. And yet she’d merged with him. Lived his life.
At least she assumed it was his life.
“Jonah?”
“Yeah?” He sounded distracted.
“Who’s Zachary?”
This time the silence stretched on endlessly.
Eve couldn’t bear it. It echoed through her ears, deafening her. She opened her eyes and looked at him, only to find him staring back, his expression confused, cautious.
“That’s the second time you’ve said the name,” he finally said.
“I merged with him. A child named Zachary.”
“What did he look like?”
Eve shrugged. “I don’t know. While I could see what he saw and hear what he heard, I couldn’t see him.”
