Season of Strangers (33 page)

Stuffing the notebook beneath her arm, she headed out the door, her hands so unsteady she dropped the car keys twice on the way to his parking garage. She nearly flooded the engine before she got the damned car started. She threw the Mercedes into reverse, shot backward out of the space, then slammed the brakes on too hard and jerked herself forward against the seat belt, knocking the air out of her lungs.

“Calm down, Julie,” she said out loud. “You've got to get there in one piece if you want to get this whole thing straightened out.” As if that could actually happen.

She dragged in two deep breaths and slowly, purposely released them. Her hands calmed a little. She put the car in drive, drove through the garage at a moderate speed and out onto the street.

It didn't take long to reach the office. She parked in her usual spot at the rear of the building and turned off the engine, but couldn't find the courage to open the door and get out. Patrick's Porsche was parked in the lot not far away. He was in there. A Patrick she didn't really know.

Or a man from another world.

It couldn't be true. Her logical, functioning mind knew that, yet the pieces fit so neatly together, everything Laura had said—confirmed. And explained in detail in Patrick's journal.

Her head tipped forward till it rested on the steering wheel. “God, please help me get through this.” Whatever she discovered, it wasn't going to be good. Not unless Patrick knew nothing at all about the journal, and recognizing his writing as she had, even that would be hard to believe.

She got out of the car and crossed the parking lot, entering the back door as quietly as she could and making her way directly to his office, grateful no one had seen her come in. She could only imagine the look on her face—terror, sheer, stark terror. And a pain that ran soul-deep.

What if all of it were true?

It was impossible. Surely. There had to be some other explanation.

Patrick glanced up as she walked in without knocking and quietly closed the door.

He smiled. “Julie…” Then he saw her face. “My God, what's wrong?” He was out of his chair in a heartbeat, worried about her, ready to help, strong, purposeful, determined.

Everything he never was before.

Julie's gaze met his and her whole body went rigid. “Stay where you are. Don't…don't come near me, Patrick.”

He frowned darkly, digging deep lines across his forehead. Then he saw the journal she still clutched under her arm.

“Julie…”

She held it up with a trembling hand. “Explain it, Patrick. Tell me this is some sick joke of yours. Tell me none of this is real. That you made it all up.”

Patrick said nothing.

“Are you crazy, Patrick? Are you insane?”

He stiffened, tension making his broad shoulders look even wider. He took a deep breath and slowly released it, his eyes still fixed on her face. Resignation settled over his features. “No.”

Julie's throat went tight, a hard lump rising, part of it anger, some of it fear. “If you aren't crazy, then I must be. This can't be real. Laura was never abducted. There is no such place as Toril.”

He said nothing. The silence was so deep, the air between them filled with such clarity she knew in that moment the journal was real.

“Oh, my God.”

“I'm sorry,” he said gently. “In life, there are always things that are bigger than we want to believe. Frightening things. Things we don't understand. I hoped you would never know the truth. I hoped you would never find out.”

“It—it can't be the truth. It isn't possible.”

“I'm afraid, love, that it is.”

She moved her head from side to side, trying to deny it when his eyes said clearly that the things in the notebook were true. There was pain there, too, she saw, and regret and something else she could not name.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Valenden Zarkazian. I'm commander of the science wing on board my ship, the
Ansor.
But I imagine you know that already. I imagine you read it in my journal.”

Her mouth felt dry. Feathery dry, parched until her lips would barely move. “I read it. I read it over and over and over. I couldn't make myself believe it. I didn't want to believe it.”

“I know it's hard. I realize—”

She held up a trembling hand, shaking her head at the same time, unwilling to hear the words. “Did…did you kill him? Did you murder Patrick Donovan?”

His grim expression darkened even more. He firmly shook his head. “No.”

“I don't…don't believe you.”

“It's complicated, Julie. If you'll give me a chance, I'll try to explain what this is all about.” He took a step toward her.

Julie backed away. “You want me to listen to you? Why should I? I don't even know who you are—
what
you are. When I think of the way I let you touch me…of the things we did in bed…it makes my skin crawl.”

He reached out to her, trying to stop the hateful words. “Don't, Julie, please. I'm begging you—give me a chance to explain.”

Adrenaline rushed into the pit of her stomach. “You can explain it to the authorities. I'm sure there is someone in the government who'll be interested to learn what you and your friends have been doing.”

“Don't be a fool. You know as well as I do that no one will believe you.”

She lifted the notebook above her head, turned, and jerked open the door. “You forget, Patrick—or whatever your name is—this time there's proof.” She waved the notebook. “I've got your journal.”

She started to walk out of the office, but the doorknob twisted out of her fingers and the door slammed closed in front of her. The notebook felt hot in her hands, then suddenly jerked upward and flew across the room. Patrick neatly captured it between his waiting hands.

She was shaking all over. She turned to stare at the closed door that once more barred her way. “Am I…am I your prisoner?”

“Good, God, no!” The doorknob turned and the door swung gently open. “That was little more than a parlor trick. You can leave whenever you wish. I was only trying to protect you.” He looked at her and this time she didn't turn away. “There is only one thing I ask before you go.”

“What's that?” she whispered, the adrenaline beginning to fade, the ache of loss returning to take its place. The Patrick she had loved was gone. Lost to her forever. In truth he had never existed.

“Before you walk out that door, I want you to consider all the things we've shared. If you ever felt anything for me, if you ever cared for me in the least, give me a chance to explain.”

Julie raised her head and looked him straight in the face. “Goodbye, Patrick.” She couldn't seem to stop calling him that. Dear God, she had loved him so much. It didn't really matter. Nothing did. The world was nothing as she had perceived it. It never would be again.

She walked through the door and he made no move to stop her.

Her legs felt wooden but she forced herself to walk away, out into the hallway, outside into the sunshine. It should have warmed her, but it didn't. Her heart felt encased in ice. Her stomach felt leaden. She didn't know where to go, where to turn.

He was right. No one would believe her. Everyone would think she was crazy. She had read volumes of books and dozens upon dozens of articles. No one would believe her story held a grain of truth.

No one but Laura.

For the first time in all of her twenty-nine years, Julie needed her sister. Laura was the only person on earth who could possibly understand.

V
al hunched over his desk, his elbows propped on top, his head hanging down. He raked his hands through his hair, but it tumbled forward again, forming a stubborn curl over his forehead.

He had been sitting this way for nearly an hour, his heart throbbing dully, feeling sick to his stomach. Every time he closed his eyes he could see Julie standing in the doorway, his journal clutched under her arm. He could see her pale face, stricken with grief and fear. He could remember the way she had looked at him—as if he were some kind of monster. Or perhaps some kind of bug.

Poetic justice, they called it—since that was the way he had first looked at her.

Someone knocked at the door, and Val lifted his head. “What is it?”

The door swung wide and Shirl Bingham stuck her head through the opening. “Are you all right, Patrick? You've been ignoring the intercom for almost an hour. I thought maybe—”

“I'm fine. I just had some things to go over.” He stood up, shoving back his chair, the wheels banging sharply against the side of his desk. “I'll be out for a while. You can reach me at home later.”

Shirl eyed him with concern. “Are you sure you're all right? You don't look so good.”

A corner of his mouth curved faintly but he couldn't make himself smile. “Thanks.”

“You know what I mean. I was thinking maybe your heart…”

“My heart is fine.” But of course his heart wasn't fine at all. It was broken. He had read the term and now he understood it, and it was even more painful than the words implied. His heart had been sliced neatly in two by a fiery little redhead with the courage to confront him with the truth.

Val left the office, sick with despair and regret. He didn't go home, drove instead up into the Hollywood hills, the top down on the Porsche and the wind whipping his hair, the sun beating down on his face. Thick white clouds floated above his head, cumulous clouds whose beauty until today never failed to make him smile.

Today, not even the perfect California weather could soothe his turbulent emotions. He had lost someone dear to him, and the sort of grief Julie had felt when Alex fell ill had seeped into his bones. He was worried about her but he knew she wouldn't let him help her. He felt frustrated and angry, and more alone than he had ever felt before.

For the first time since his arrival on Earth, Val wished for the quiet serenity of Toril.

 

Julie sat across the tiny kitchen table in Laura's Venice Beach apartment, her icy fingers wrapped around a flowered coffee mug, its contents long ago grown cold.

“I still can't believe it,” Julie said.

Laura reached over and gently squeezed her arm. “I know what you mean. I still can't believe any of this is real, but in my heart I know it is.”

“I'm sorry I didn't believe you.”

“It's all right. It isn't something that's easy to believe.”

Julie sighed, her breath whispering out to mingle with the air in the steamy kitchen. “No it isn't. But I kept reading things, articles in magazines and newspapers that made me think UFOs might be real. So many people claim to have seen them. Half the population believes they exist—did you know that? Half the people in the United States believe UFOs are real, but I just couldn't convince myself. I didn't want to. The truth is I was afraid.”

Laura said nothing.

“I feel sick, Laura. Sick and angry and scared. I feel like I should tell someone, the military, maybe, or the police, the FBI—someone. I feel like I ought to do something, but I don't know what.”

“Haven't you figured it out yet? There's nothing you
can
do. Not unless you want to put yourself through the kind of agony I've been through. And even if you do, it won't do any good. No one is going to believe you.”

“I wonder if they know…the government, I mean. I wonder if they're keeping this all a terrible secret.”

“Why don't you ask
him
?”

“Who?”

“Patrick.”

Julie shook her head. “There is no Patrick. The Patrick I fell in love with doesn't exist. He never did.”

Laura sighed as she got up from her chair and left the room, returning a few minutes later with a box of Kleenex she dropped in the middle of the table. Julie didn't realize she was crying till Laura jerked out a tissue and handed it over.

Julie took it with a look of gratitude and dabbed it against her eyes. “I loved him, Laura. I loved him so much.”

“I think he loved you, too.”

Julie's head came up behind the tissue. “You're crazy. The man is some kind of creature from another world.”

“Maybe he is. Or at least that's what they seem like to us. Especially to me. But the last time I saw them, something changed.”

“What do you mean,
the last time
? You're not saying they've taken you again?”

Laura nodded and glanced away. “At Arrowhead. That's the reason we came home early.”

“Oh, dear God.”

“It was different this time, though. This time, they tried to comfort me, tried to make me understand what it was they wanted.”

“You saw the leaders, the superiors? What…what did they look like?” Unconsciously, she shivered. God, she didn't really want to know.

“I didn't see the leaders. I've never seen them. I just felt their presence. They're trying to learn about us, Julie. From what you've said, that's the reason Valenden is here.”

“I don't care why he's here. I hate him for what he has done.”

“You love him.”

“Are you insane? He's a monster.”

“Is he? He's in love with you. You could see it in his face whenever he looked at you. I don't think Patrick Donovan was capable of that kind of love. And I think this person, Valenden…I think maybe he is.”

Her throat hurt, ached and ached and fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. “How can you say that? He isn't even human.”

“Patrick was human, and in his own way I think he cared for you. But he never looked at you the way this man does. He never cared enough to be true to you. I couldn't figure it out. It didn't fit with the Patrick I knew. But if Patrick is partly this other person, this Commander Zarkazian, it all makes an odd kind of sense.”

Julie's shoulders sagged. “God, I wish it did.”

Laura reached out and gripped her hand. “You have to talk to him. You said he didn't kill Patrick. You said he wanted to explain. Aren't you the least bit curious what he might have to say?”

The mug clattered noisily against the table. Julie looked her square in the face. “I can't believe I'm hearing this. I'm his experiment, for God's sake. What can he possibly have to say?”

“If he's in love with you, maybe he isn't really so different. Not deep down inside.”

For the longest time Julie didn't answer. Her voice was locked in her throat and even if she could have spoken, she wouldn't have known what to say.

“I'm frightened, Laura.” She felt Laura's warm fingers close reassuringly around her hand.

“I know you are. So am I. Talk to him, Julie. If not for your own sake, do it for mine. Can you imagine how desperate I am to learn more about them? How I wish I could make them understand the terrible things they're doing to me and to the others?”

“I—I never thought of it that way.”

“You have to do it, Julie. It's important. More important than anything you've ever done before.”

“What if he's dangerous or something?”

“You don't believe that. At least you didn't or you wouldn't have fallen in love with him. Give him the chance he's asked for. Listen to what he has to say.”

Julie fell silent. Of all the advice she might have expected her sister to give, this was surely not it. What Laura said made sense, more sense than up until now she had given her sister credit for having. But she wasn't ready to face him yet. She needed time to think. To pull herself together.

Whatever he had to say, it couldn't change the fact that her affair with Patrick Donovan was over. Julie needed time to resign herself to the heartbreaking loss she felt every time she closed her eyes and saw Patrick's beloved face.

 

Tony Sandini leaned his heavy, big-boned frame back against the curved red vinyl seat in the corner booth at Banducci's Ristorante, his favorite local hole in the wall. Ralph Ceccarelli and Jake Naworski sat across from him, Ralph immaculately dressed as usual, Jake rumpled and looking like he had just crawled out of a four-dollar flophouse somewhere.

Tony snapped his blunt fingers and called the waiter over, a little man with a bald head and little pig eyes. When the waiter reached the table, covered by the mandatory red-checked cloth, Tony shoved his empty salad plate toward him and ordered another bottle of Chianti.

He was out on the West Coast mixing a little business with pleasure. After lunch he would return to his fancy suite at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel and the svelte little blonde who would be waiting. He had met her on his last trip out, an airline stew with a taste for the better things in life.

She had just enough moxie and just enough brains to attract his interest—and an ass and tits to hold it past the first two times he had screwed her.

But that was for later. Business came first. It always did.

“Tell me about the Brookhaven deal,” he said to the men. “You spoke to Donovan, got everything worked out?”

“Yeah, boss,” said Naworski. “We took care of it just like you said.”

“He'll do as he's told,” Ceccarelli added. “He doesn't want his pretty face mashed in and he's smart enough to know that's exactly what he'll get if he doesn't do his part.”

Or worse, Tony silently added. He wasn't about to let pretty-boy Patrick Donovan off the hook till he'd repaid every dime he owed, no matter what it took. “Things seem like they're movin' kinda slow. You talked to that Bonham woman lately?”

“Donovan's supposed to meet with her this week,”

Jake said. “That guy could charm a nun out of her drawers. Them teachers'll be eatin' outta his hand.”

“Jake's right,” Ceccarelli agreed. “With Donovan backing the sale of those notes, the deal's as good as done.”

“Good. I want this whole thing wrapped up as soon as you can get it done. Once the money's in, Westwind can take the fall. Just make sure there's no way they'll be able to connect the company to me.”

“No problem, boss.”

“And keep an eye on Donovan. There's something about that guy that bothers me.”

“It's his conscience,” Ceccarelli grumbled. “Donovan's got one and he's the kinda guy who can let it get in his way.”

“See that he doesn't,” Tony warned, digging into the plate of linguini and eggplant parmigiana the waiter had just set in front of him. The aroma drifted up and his mouth started to water. God, he loved this place. Food was almost as good as his mama's.

As they ate, Tony's thoughts returned to the blonde he would be screwing after lunch. The image gave him a slight erection and he only ate half what he usually put away.

He chuckled to himself. He'd fuck Patrick Donovan real good, too, if the bastard even thought about screwing him over.

Tony laughed as he finished his tiramisu.

 

Val pulled the Porsche into the parking garage and just sat there staring through the windshield. He had been driving for hours, trying to clear his head, trying to find some way out. Nothing had come to him. All he felt now was numb.

It took several moments in the deep leather seat before he felt the vibration of the small communications device in his pocket. Pulling it out, he slid open the lid and began to read the transmission. It came from Calas Panidyne, a live feed of the High Council meeting that he had entirely forgotten about.

Damn!
He had been so fatigued after transportation to the last council meeting, it had been decided this was a safer procedure. With his thought in turmoil over Julie, the meeting had completely slipped his mind.

Val replied that he was receiving the transmission clearly and would be happy to respond to any questions the council might have.

As highest ranking of the ten members in the group, Calas Panidyne began the session. Val was only mildly surprised when he started by stating that Val had made entirely too little progress during his time on Earth.

One of the ministers disagreed. The transmission read:
Commander Zarkazian is one of the most highly regarded scientists on Toril. The assignment he has undertaken is not only perilous but difficult in the extreme. In a world heretofore unknown to him, it is only natural his progress would be hard to measure. I for one have found the information he has been sending infinitely enlightening. I have begun to understand the people of Earth as I never have before.