was a full octave lower than it had been at the lab. At the farmhouse. In the van on the way here. “It hurts …”
A tear escaped, rolling out and trailing down the cheek that was no longer that of a child.
The boy was still in there, though. And he was begging for her to go to him, even though there was nothing she could do for him.
As he implored her for help, time slowed down—and in the swirl of her own confusion and panic, a thought crystalized with the clarity of church bells ringing through a foggy night: If she went to him, if she sat with him, if she tried to ease his suffering, she was going to lose a part of herself forever.
Because she did not belong in this world. In his world.
She was not supposed to be here. She was not supposed to know any of this. And somehow, she wasn’t sure exactly how, they were going to make sure she went back to where she belonged with all her previous ignorance front and center.
There was no way she was going to be allowed to keep this information, this experience. All she had to do was remember their escape from the lab and the way the commando had seemed to put that guard in a trance, and control Kraiten, and make things happen with people’s minds.
He was going to end up doing the same to her.
Except … she was willing to bet emotional ties were not going to be as easy to get rid of. And there was nothing more powerful for the heart than the mother/child bond—which was the way Nate implored her now.
He was a child. He was in pain. And he needed somebody to nurture him.
What are you going do, Sarah, she thought.
“You don’t have to,” the commando said gruffly.
Sarah gripped the arms of the hard chair and slowly stood up. As her legs let out creaks of protest, her muscles stiff from however long she had been sitting, she thought of what Nate had been through—was still going through.
She looked down at the commando. “I know what you’re going to do to me.” When he opened his mouth, she shook her head. “Just stop. Don’t lie to me. You think I’m not aware of how you work? The only thing I ask is just warn me when you’re going to take my mind over and let me say goodbye to him before you make me leave.”
The commando’s eyes dropped. “Sarah …”
“Swear it.”
He took a deep breath, his chest expanding. Then his beautiful peach stare lifted to her. “I swear. On my honor.”
Oh, God, she was right. She had guessed correctly.
Sarah cleared her throat and looked over at the bed. “Just let me say goodbye to him.”
Straightening her spine, she walked over and gingerly eased her hip on the mattress. As another tear escaped Nate’s eye, she reached out and snapped a Kleenex free from a box. Even though she dabbed ever so carefully, he winced as if she had struck him with barbed wire.
“Your skin is sensitive?” she whispered. When he nodded, she nodded back. “I would imagine it is—”
“You think I’m a monster.”
As his deep voice came out of his mouth, her heart stopped, and she had to catch herself before she recoiled. It was all just so hard to comprehend. But what she was clear on? None of this was his fault or something he had volunteered for.
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think you’re a monster.”
“Yes, you do. I can see it in your eyes.”
She refused to lie to him. “I just didn’t know …”
“About us.”
She wanted to ask what exactly “us” was, but she had a feeling she knew. And the reality frightened her.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said, as if he read her mind. “I promise.”
“Now, that I completely believe.”
“I might still die,” he mumbled. “It’s not over yet. I just … I’m scared.”
“What happens now?” God, she was suddenly terrified for him, and she took his hand in her own as if she could keep him alive by the contact alone. “Do you need the doctors?”
“I don’t know.”
The commando got up from his seat. “I’ll go get somebody.” Something in her expression must have gotten through to him because he just shrugged helplessly. “Sometimes things just stop working. All we can do is wait and see what happens.”
As he left, the door eased shut.
Left alone with Nate, Sarah leaned up and brushed his hair back.