Fragile Spirits (8 page)

T
he drive to the hospital was silent except for my repeated instructions that Vivienne tell only the truth and not contradict me, no matter what I said.

“What’s the old man like when he’s mad?” she asked, pulling into the parking garage outside the ER.

I’ve never seen him mad.

“I bet the top of his little bald head gets red.” She snickered. I found nothing in the conversation funny whatsoever.

The ER seemed unnecessarily bright and harsh. I could see what Vivienne saw and heard through her ears, but I had no sense of smell at all. She headed to the counter, but I urged her to stop.
We should just wait. He’ll know we’re here.

“How?” she whispered.

He’ll have a Protector with him who will have felt you arrive.

She moved to the side of the waiting room near a large aquarium full of tiny fish.

“There you are. I must have missed you coming in,” Race said, emerging through the set of stainless-steel double doors between us and the reception desk. “You’re in some fierce trouble, my friends.”

“I’m not your friend,” Vivienne said.

“You’re going to wish I were, sweetheart. It’s hittin’ the fan around here.” He tilted his head. “You in there, Junior?”

Tell him yes.

She nodded.

“Follow me,” he said, heading back to the doors. He nodded at the woman behind the counter, who buzzed them open.

It was the longest walk I’d ever made—well, that I’d ever been a part of. Finally, Race turned into a room at the end of the hallway.

And there I was. My body lay in a bed with an IV and machines all around. It wasn’t hooked up to any of them, but it was scary anyway.

Vivienne scanned the room and found Charles sitting in a pink plastic chair in the corner.

“Put him back,” Charles ordered, gesturing to my body. I was instantly alarmed because his words were accusatory, as if she had taken me out of my body in the first place.

Touch my body,
I said.

She looked back at Charles, and I could tell she was going to say something rude.

Remember the memory I showed you? That could be us. Touch my body, and let’s get this over with.

She pressed her palm to my ankle. “Out,” I whispered to my soul. For a moment, I hovered over my body on the bed. I wanted to zip away without entering. To just run away from everything, but it was not feasible . . . or right. I had always done what was right. “In,” I commanded my spirit, focusing on my sleeping form on the narrow hospital bed.

My body gasped to life. I took several breaths before I opened my eyes.

Charles remained in the chair in the corner. “Your body was discovered by Mrs. Nelson’s neighbor, who called an ambulance. Your car was towed to a lot downtown. How did you and Vivienne get to the hospital?”

Vivienne took a position near the bed, as if to put herself between Charles and me. “Well, when his car was gone, I decided—”

I cut her off. “I convinced Vivienne to borrow Mrs. Nelson’s car.”

He leaned forward. “I assume you have a good reason why your body was left in an unsecure place unattended, Paul?”

Vivienne took a step even closer. “I—”

Again, I cut her off. “It was my fault entirely. I should have been more careful. I apologize . . . and I apologize to you, Vivienne. I put us both in jeopardy.”

Vivienne opened and closed her mouth several times while I gave her a pointed look. Surely she would pick up on my lead and stay quiet. There was no need for both of us to go down.

Race cleared his throat. “Are you through with me here, sir?”

Charles turned to Race. “Follow Vivienne back and return the car. Then take her to the house.”

Vivienne shuffled foot to foot. “I have somewhere I need to go.”

Charles’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s really important.”

He sighed. “Take her wherever she needs to go, then deliver her to the house, please, Horace.”

Race nodded and strode out the door. Vivienne cast me a look before following. A blast of worry washed over me. Was her concern for herself or me? I wondered.

Long moments passed with no sound except the gentle, high-pitched beeping from one of the machines.

“I’m really sorry, sir,” I said.

He nodded. “I know.” He reached over and pushed a red button on the wall.

After a few moments, a nurse entered. “Well, hello there! Your father said you’d wake up soon.”

My father?

I tried to smile. “I’m fine. Can I go now?”

She pulled a blood pressure cuff off the wall and wrapped it around my arm. “No. Not until the doctor discharges you, which won’t be until tomorrow morning at the earliest. They are going to transfer you to a regular room for observation.” She puffed the cuff up on my arm and put a stethoscope in her ears. She smiled and made an entry on the computer on her cart. “Any pain, dizziness, nausea?”

“No. I’m fine.”

Charles shifted to the front of his chair. “I told you he’s done this before. I gave the doctor his neurologist’s number. She can chat with him on Monday, but I’d like to take him home.”

“I’ll call the doctor and get back to you, okay?” she said sweetly. It was obvious I wasn’t going anywhere without a scene, and there was no way Charles would make a scene. I settled in and pulled the sheet higher over the hospital gown.

After she left, Charles stood and paced the room. “You’ve put me in an awkward situation.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I made a huge mistake.”

“You certainly did. You’ve forced me to step outside my job as regional director for a personal role.” He stopped pacing and met my eyes directly. “It won’t happen again. Do you understand?”

My heart thumped so hard in my chest, I was sure the sheet was moving with it. “Yes, sir.”

“The IC has many reasons for avoiding hospitals, records being one of them. I’ll have one of the IC doctors make up a story to cover for your temporary coma.” He scrubbed a hand over his bald head. “I had to answer lots of questions about your scars.”

I fiddled with the rough sheet. Charles and I had never touched on this subject before.

He leaned closer from his chair. “I didn’t know how extensive they were. Your file from Wilkingham didn’t mention it in detail. You should have told me.”

Still unable to meet his eyes, I folded the top of the sheet over in a neat pleat. “Some things don’t warrant discussion.”

“Fair enough.” He stood and collected his jacket from the chair. “The doctor will most certainly ask you about them. I suggest you relay that you have no recollection of how they happened.”

“I don’t.”

He paused in folding his jacket over his arm. A blast of concern emanated from him, which surprised me, since he was so good about keeping his guard up and not letting his feelings transmit. As quickly as the emotions came, he masked them. “None at all?”

“I only remember the last one. The others . . . ?” I shrugged. “Nothing.”

He reached out as if he were going to place his hand on my shoulder, but stopped just short of touching me. Silently, he studied me for a moment, then headed for the door. “Please don’t put me in a position like this again.”

He paused in the doorway but didn’t turn to face me. “Race will come get you in the morning. Your things are in the closet.”

And with that, he exited the room, leaving me in absolute chaos—completely alone to battle not only my current mistakes, but the demons of my past as well.

21st-Century Cycle, Journal Entry 3:

Our assignment as a team was a great success. The newly turned Malevolent was resolved in a routine manner with no injury, incident, or issue.

Paul Blackwell—Protector 993

I
’ve been sent to bust you out of here, sleeping beauty. Look alive!” Race’s voice startled me awake with a jolt. My knees slammed into the metal rolling tray pulled over my hospital bed, nearly launching the Styrofoam plate of cold scrambled eggs into my lap. He ran a hand over his hair and chuckled. “The doc called Charles and said your discharge should happen this morning.”

I rolled the tray away. “The doctor was here about two hours ago.”

“And?”

I rubbed the back of my neck to alleviate what felt like a sunburn. “I’ll be surprised if she doesn’t transfer me to the psych floor. She thinks I’m nuts.”

“You’re not?”

My situation surely was. “How’s Vivienne?”

He laughed and flopped into the vinyl recliner in the corner. I’d been moved from the ER to this room sometime in the middle of the night for observation.

“Vivienne’s fine. Really fine, if you know what I mean.”

I ignored his clumsy innuendo and pushed a button that put the top of my bed upright. “Where did she have to go after she left here?”

He popped the footstool up, which caused the whole chair to tilt back in a rapid jerk. “Whoa! It’s like a mechanical bull! Yippeekaiyay!” He swung his arm over his head as if balancing on a bucking bull.

I sat up straight. “Where’d she go?”

“She had me drop her off at some row houses in the ward.”

“Why?” The sunburn feeling on my neck was really bugging me. I hadn’t been in the sun recently, though. I placed my hand over it, and it felt hot to the touch.

He shrugged. “Honestly, Junior, I didn’t ask. Seemed like something I didn’t want to know, if you know what I mean. It was a sketchy place.”

“Why would she go there?” I hadn’t realized I’d asked it out loud until he answered me.

“By the way she dresses and acts, the possibilities are endless.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Watch it.”

“Or what, Junior? You gonna hop out of that bed in your little cotton gown and kick my ass?” He pushed on the wooden handle on the side of the recliner, but nothing happened. He struggled with it again and then laughed. “You’d have to give me a head start, though, because this thing has me trapped.” Then he really laughed. “That’d be awesome, you with a bare butt and me with mine stuck in this chair. All we’d need is a cute nurse, and it would be a YouTube sensation.”

I sat back and sighed. What was Vivienne doing in the ward at night in a row house? “Can we just leave?” I asked.

“Nah. The big guy told me not to make a fuss. I’ll go check with the nurses’ station, though. Might find a cutie while I’m there.” He yanked the handle and shoved his booted feet hard on the footrest, and the footstool finally slipped down into place at the front of the chair, bringing it upright with a slam. “Free at last!” he said, standing.

“Where is she now?” I asked.

“Who, the cute nurse?”

I rolled my eyes. “No. Vivienne.”

He shrugged. “Who knows? Cinda was taking her to some meeting in Galveston when I dropped by to talk to Charles this morning. He wouldn’t discuss this over the phone. Guess he’s covering your ass this time, huh?”

“What kind of meeting?” I pushed on the bed rail, but it wouldn’t come down. “What meeting did Cinda take her to?” I was getting frantic. Were they questioning her about last night? Charles had seemed accusatory when he spoke to her. He may have been covering for me, but letting her take the hit for breaking the rules—I couldn’t let that happen. “You’ve gotta get me to Galveston. I have to stop it.”

“Stop what?”

I scooted to the end of the bed and threw my legs over the edge. “Stop the hearing.”

“Nobody said anything about a hearing.”

“But—”

“Calm down, Junior. Nobody’s going to get discontinued. Not today, anyway.” He looked me up and down. “Might want to put on some clothes.” Then he left.

She was in a meeting at headquarters in Galveston, but it wasn’t a hearing. My mind tried to run through the possibilities, but came up blank.

I pulled my clothes out of the closet and changed in the bathroom. I didn’t even have her phone number, I realized. I took a deep breath. I needed to get my act together and start operating on logic. I ran some cold water over my hand and put it over my burning neck.

“Hey, you’re good to go,” Race said, waving a pink paper over his head. “Ready to get out of here?”

He didn’t need to ask twice. I grabbed the plastic bag at the bottom of the closet, pulled out my phone and wallet, and headed to the door.

When I got home, I searched for Vivienne. My car was in the garage, but there was no sign of my Speaker. The last place I looked was in her bedroom. I called her name several times before I entered.

The room looked pretty much the same as it always had, but it smelled different. It smelled like Vivienne—fresh and with a faint hint of spice. I took a deep breath and turned a full circle. Her e-reader was on the desk next to a tattered duffel bag. I knew I shouldn’t snoop, but I couldn’t help myself.

Her screen came to life on her table of contents. Based on her attitude and appearance, what I saw was not at all what I expected. The books on her reader were classics and historical fiction; the newest selections were nonfiction books about learning disorders.

A door slammed downstairs. I turned the device off and put it back exactly as I had found it.

I slid out the door and into my bedroom before heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs.

I fought the urge to go peek. I was certain it was Vivienne’s combat-type boots clomping up the stairs, but another set joined her footsteps. A clicking sound. The boots kept on tromping past my door, but the clicking footsteps stopped outside.

A faint knocking came from my door.

“Come in,” I called.

“She’s fine,” Cinda said, twirling a rental car key chain and keys on her finger. “It all went smoothly.”

I tried to not act as confused as I was. “That’s good.” I ran a hand through my shower-wet hair, hoping she’d give me a clue what had happened.

“Charles was very surprised when Vivienne made her request. He thought she would give it at least a week, but she was absolutely firm.”

A horrible rush of nausea overcame me, and I covered my mouth as it dawned on me what had happened today. I held my breath for a moment and the urge to throw up passed. Vivienne had rejected me. I would go this cycle without a Speaker.

“She’s packing now,” Cinda said. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

I took another deep breath, lowered my hand, and tried to smile. “Yes, I’m fine. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” I’d been too worried about protecting Vivienne from getting busted for breaking IC rules, only to discover she’d been messing around in the ward doing who knew what and then requesting a formal Council meeting to reject me.
Perfect.

I could feel Vivienne’s anxiety before she even got to my doorway. “Hey,” she said.

She hadn’t even given us a week! It took everything in me to not shout at her. Instead, I simply stared at her in silence.

She shuffled foot to foot, her transmissions of discomfort increasing until they bordered on dread.

“Ready to go?” Cinda asked.

Vivienne stared at me a moment longer. “Yeah, I guess so.” She stayed planted, just staring.

The burning on the back of my neck flared. “Well, what are you waiting for? If you’re going to leave,
leave.
”

Cinda brushed past her and then, with one last look and a strong burst of regret, she followed.

I buried my face in my hands and tried to breathe. The back of my neck felt as though it were on fire.

The front door opened and closed, and it wasn’t until I heard a car start in front of the house that I could move.

Gone.

She’d made up her mind in less than twenty-four hours.

My phone rang. “Race” lit the screen. Just what I needed—salt in the wound.

“Hello.”

“Well, were you surprised?”

Surprised was not the right word somehow. I straightened the papers on my desk so that they aligned perfectly with the edge. “What do you want, Race? I’m not in the mood for hazing. Get it over with.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

“You don’t know.”

“Yes, I know!” I rubbed the back of my burning neck. It was almost as if I could feel Vivienne’s emotions from wherever Cinda had taken her. But it couldn’t be. What I felt from an outside source was sorrow. Surely, what she felt was relief. She was rid of me. “How could I not know?”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.”

“Do you need something? Because if not, I’ve got stuff to do.” Like try not to break down.

“Sure. Just wanted to say congrats.”

I hung up without saying good-bye. “Thanks,” I muttered. I thought back on what he’d said about how she’d ditch me if I was lucky. He probably genuinely thought congratulations were in order.

I opened the file on my desk and turned my computer on. I had to complete the report for yesterday’s disastrous resolution. My vision blurred as I typed her name. Vivienne Thibideaux. I said the name out loud, and the back of my neck burned again. The horrible ache I’d felt earlier that I was picking up from outside myself flared again.
Great.
Just what I needed. Someone else’s sorrow to compound my own. For the first time, being a Protector sucked. Truly sucked.

As I typed up the report, I realized the resolution hadn’t been the loss I’d imagined it. She had resolved a Malevolent on her first attempt. No easy feat. Usually, a new Speaker was initiated with an easy assignment.

What would happen to me now? I sent the report electronically and filed the paper in my drawer. Would I end up in a desk job like Race’s Speaker, or would I be a floating third used for odd jobs and exorcisms like Race?

The front door opened and closed again.

Cinda’s delicate clicking footsteps rose up the stairs. This time, she didn’t pause outside my room, she just burst on in.

“I didn’t expect that from you.” She shook her finger at me. “Sure, she’s a bit unconventional, but you didn’t have to be mean.”

I almost turned around to be sure she wasn’t scolding someone behind me. “Mean? How was I mean? I think I was pretty civil under the circumstances.”

She was irrationally pissed. Shaking, even. Since she was a new Speaker, brand-new, I could barely feel her transmissions, but the sorrow from the other source kept a steady beat in my soul. “You didn’t even say good-bye,” Cinda said.

“
I
wasn’t the one leaving.”

Her jaw dropped. “You could have at least hugged her or shaken hands or something. She’s a wreck.”

“Yes, she is.” And I was probably much better off for her decision, but still, my chest ached, and I felt like the total loser Vivienne believed me to be. And I felt lost. And hurt. And deep down, for some unexplainable reason, I missed her. I slammed my fist on my desk. Hell, I barely knew her. The whole situation was ridiculous.

“We’d only known each other a short while,” I said. “I have no clue who she is—nor do I care.” Which was an absolute lie. It was taking everything in me to not ask where Cinda had dropped her off.

“She cried the whole way home,” Cinda shouted.

So it
was
Vivienne’s emotions I was feeling from outside. She was sad. Why? The back of my neck felt like it was on fire. Maybe some Benadryl or cream for bug bites or poison ivy would make it stop. “I need to go to my car,” I said, waiting for Cinda to get out of my doorway.

Her eyes narrowed. “I hope it’s because you’re going to go apologize.”

I couldn’t believe it. I was being bombarded with Vivienne’s emotions from wherever she was, dealing with the ultimate rejection, my neck felt like it was infested with fire ants, and I was being hassled by this pushy girl blocking my doorway.

“Me, apologize? For what? I didn’t leave. She did.”

Cinda threw her arms up in the air dramatically and then huffed out. Fortunately, she went to her room and not downstairs. I wasn’t up for more theatrics or guilt. Things sucked enough on their own without enhancement.

I pulled my medical kit out of my trunk and trudged to the kitchen. I could hear my phone chime upstairs, which meant I had received a text, but I blew it off.

I smoothed some Benadryl cream on the back of my neck, but that only made it worse.

I closed the kit and sat on a stool, resting my cheek on the cool counter. I could still feel Vivienne’s soul transmitting, and it added to my own misery.

My text alert chimed from upstairs again. It could be Charles, and after last night, I needed to be on my best behavior.

With great effort, I made one foot go forward and then the other until I’d made it up the stairs and to my room.

I slumped into my desk chair and stared at my screen.

We need to talk—V.

What was she playing at? “No!” I shouted. The end was the end. Being around her would torture me.

I shuffled over to my bed and flopped down, exhausted. Too exhausted to reason this out effectively. I stared at the ceiling, seeing nothing. How had she wriggled under my skin in so short a period of time? She was obnoxious, abrasive, intentionally argumentative . . . and brilliant, beautiful, fascinating, and I had no idea how I could go without seeing her again. The burn on my neck flared.

“Damn!” I stomped to my bathroom, wet a hand towel with cool water, and wrapped it behind my neck. I was a master at pushing negativity and bad experiences into an inaccessible box in my mind never to be visited again, and that is where Vivienne Thibideaux would be relegated, just as soon as I could bring myself to do it.