Breath
Intermission II
by Rebeckah
Sunshine
You were looking for the sunshine
High up above,
I saw you in their window crying.
He could see her crying, but he didn't know who she was. Her auburn curls tumbled wildly down her shoulders, a violent purple bruise highlighted the fair skin of one cheek bone, but it was the blue eyes that struck his innermost self. They weren't the usual pale blue of so many, but a brilliant, dark blue, glittering like sapphires in tear filled eyes. Who was she? He wondered again. Why did she look at him so? Why did he feel that he had failed her when he didn't recognize her? Slowly she retreated from him, or was pulled away, he couldn't tell which. She was clutching a small bundle to her chest. He watched as she vanished in the darkness surrounding them like a tunnel and heard the crash of a heavy, metallic door or gate. The sound echoed around him with the finality of the gates of Hell closing. And still those eyes called out to him.
I was standing on the outside
As I caught your eye
How could you think that I could let you down?
He knew he'd let her down somehow, even as his eyes opened in the strange room. Where was he? He recognized the beep of an EKG monitor, the sting of an IV in the back of his hand, and knew that the clear plastic bag on the IV stand next to his bed was feeding simple saline solution into his vein. A hospital room, ICU by the looks of it, he decided absently.
Then it struck him. ICU? Saline Solution, IV stands? How did he know what all these things were? Why was he here? What had happened? Most important of all----WHO WAS HE?
"So, you're finally awake."
His slightly panicky eyes turned to a black man, neatly dressed in a black suit, seated by his bed. Why did the sight of that suit frighten him so?
"What happened?" He croaked, his throat and mouth amazingly dry.
"We were hoping you could tell us that." The man's face was completely impassive. No threat, no encouragement, simply neutral.
"I don't know." He whispered painfully, closing his eyes, but opening them an instant later when those tearful blue eyes shone in the darkness. "I don't even know who I am…" He admitted in a barely audible voice.
"You should still be asleep." A nurse bustled in, preparing a syringe.
"No! Please! I need to know---" His voice trailed off as she emptied the contents of the syringe into the clear tube leading to the back of his hand.
"What do you need to know?" The black man prompted emotionlessly.
"Who she is." He mumbled drowsily. "And what she needs----from----me…."
*****
Where I grew up, in the eastern Pacific Northwest we could get some really cold December days, and at that moment I felt like I was out in the middle of one of the coldest, unprotected by so much as a coat.
And alone---you don't know what loneliness is until you've lost everything you've ever known and you find yourself in the hands of a madman. If Deirdre hadn't been cradled in my good arm, crying for all she was worth, I would have shut down completely. As it was, I heard the argument between Dr. Ventura and Lyle from a chilled distance.
One of the sweepers checked the rough field dressing that had been applied to my leg and deposited me into a wheelchair, making Ventura's argument that the hospital should treat me before I left moot. I heard him promising to call the authorities as they wheeled me out of the hospital, but nothing truly penetrated my icy shield of terror.
The was no hope on heaven or earth for me now, I was in Lyle's hands and if my baby girl hadn't needed me I would have been planning how best to kill myself in that very instant. Even the pain of my rough treatment barely penetrated my lonely, despairing walls of fear.
"Where's Jarod, Eve?" Lyle asked, settling himself next to me on the back seat of the Towncar.
"I don't know." I answered dully, adjusting Deirdre to feed her.
It was far too early for her to be hungry, but she needed the comfort of sucking and she wouldn't touch a pacifier. I ignored Lyle's intrusive gaze, the determined disinterest of the sweepers, and my own choking fear. Fortunately, I not only produced enough milk for three babies, but I also had no problems with the milk not letting down, no matter how upset I was. Deirdre settled down quickly, nursing for all she was worth in her distress.
"How is it you can speak?" Lyle demanded next.
"Jarod made me this." I indicated the choker around my neck.
Oh, did I neglect to mention the fact that Raines had my vocal chords removed during my first stay at the Centre? Lose you vocal chords, my friend, and it's all over---you'll never speak again----unless, of course, you know a genius who can make a voice synthesizer into a cameo brooch and include a microchip that interprets the movements of your neck and mouth muscles to determine words, and pitch, and volume.
I didn't even flinch when Lyle snagged it off my neck---I knew that was exactly what he would do next. I just held my daughter, comforting her with my now silent presence, and built the icy walls higher. My only chance to survive would be to become a rock, and island of stone that Lyle's sadism would never affect.
Why did I trust him? I wondered, seeing Jarod's face in my mind. Why didn't I turn and run like my head told me too?
It's not his fault, My inner voice chirped up.
I knew she would, she was my companion in times of trouble, sometimes helping me to be strong, sometimes tearing down my will to survive. Lyle found the hospital, Jarod didn’t lead him to you.
True. I had to be honest, although I often wished I didn't. Still, it wasn't Jarod's fault I was being hustled back to the Centre with all speed.
Deirdre had fallen asleep, so I moved her, and straightened my clothing, still resolutely ignoring Lyle unless he spoke to me. He pocketed the cameo and leaned closer to me, seeming disappointed when I didn't flinch.
"Where did she take the other children?" He asked me softly, reaching out with his gloved hand to stroke my cheek.
I tried to repress a shudder as terror beat against the dungeon wall where I'd imprisoned it. I shrugged. I didn't know. The slap rocked my head back and Deirdre threatened to awaken.
"Put the brat down." He snarled.
`Where?' I mouthed, looking around.
This trip hadn't been very well planned because there wasn't so much as a baby carrier.
"Give it to one of the Sweepers!"
Have you ever seen a big, burly man look like he was about to be tortured? Both of the sweepers looked like a horse asked to walk through a snake pit, nostrils flared and eyes rolling.
"Sir, please!" One of them protested uncomfortably.
"Take it!' Lyle demanded. "It's a baby for God sake! It won't bite you!"
I had already unstrapped the carrier, so I cautiously held out my daughter to the Sweeper who'd spoken. Looking like he'd rather crawl naked over razor wire, he took her, holding her fragile head correctly, much to my relief. She remained blissfully asleep, also to my relief. I didn’t trust Lyle’s patience around babies especially not around my baby.
"Now, the other babies----where?" Lyle returned to the subject at hand.
"I really don't know." I signed, hoping in a distant way that he'd believe me. "You killed her husband, she knows her home isn't safe, I don't know where she'd go…"
Lyle's fist tightened, and a part of me gibbered in terror, but all he did was pound it on his knee.
"Well," he mused softly, "we'll find out soon enough if you know anything. Once we get back to the Centre we’ll have to remove that bullet from your thigh. There’s nothing that says we have to use an anesthetic, though."
I had to remind myself to breathe. Then I wondered why I'd bothered, Deirdre or not, I wasn't sure if I was willing to keep breathing with this to look forward to.
Rock, I told myself, you are a rock---an island----a COLD rock---nothing to feel, just endure.
’Jarod, where are you?’