Chapter Seven
Jude hated the dark; he hated the way that it seemed to press in on him from all sides. It seemed that the black was a living and breathing thing; pressing in on his eyes and making them hurt as he strained to see what was around him. He could feel it filling his ears, it blocked out all of the other sounds, and made it where he couldn't hear anything but the silence of the night, and he was afraid, he was scared that the wolves might hear it echoing in his ears, they might be drawn by the sound and find him, alone and bleeding and helpless, and then what would he do?
He knew that the wolves were hungry, they were always ravenous, and there was nothing that they longed for, nothing they craved, like the soft, buttery flesh of a man like him, one who would provide them with pounds and pounds of sweet sustenance, coated well with blood, to make the bits slide down their throats all the easier. These were thoughts that made him whimper, ones that made him want to cry, but he didn't dare allow himself to make a sound, not that he could have managed anyway, given the visceral, paralyzing fury that ran a close race with his terror and his shame for the emotion that ruled supreme over him.
There was pain all throughout his body, but it was the agony in his head that bothered him the most. His skull felt like it was cracked, blood had poured forth from him, like a river, a gushing torrent of crimson, and for a moment he was sure that he was dead, or that he would be that way very soon, but he hadn't died, he had lived, and he knew the reason why this was so, he knew what his purpose was, now that he had failed the task that he'd been blessed with, that he'd been trusted with.
How could she do this to me? That was the thought that filled his mind as he gingerly touched the aching spot on the back of his head, biting back a cry of pain when his fingertips brushed across a place that was particularly sore. Then it dawned on him that it wasn't completely her fault. After all, she never would have run from him if it hadn't been for the son of a bitch who'd tried to crack his skull open. Sophie had known the importance of her role, she had accepted her fate, and she never would have run from her destiny, had that intruder not persuaded her to do so.
He knew then that he would have to find both of them. He would have to transcend her to her glorious being and punish the one who'd dared to steal her away. Surely that would make up for his mistake, wouldn't it? He could still be forgiven, couldn't he? All that he had to do was find them and kill them. That wasn't too hard of a task, was it?
Sophie's POV
I was so warm. I was so cozy. I felt like I was in a protective cocoon, one that kept me safe from the outside world, one that promised that I could lay my head to rest without a worry or a care about who might be hovering in the background, waiting for a chance to hurt me. I couldn't remember another time in my life when I had felt as safe as I did at that moment, and that soothed me, but it scared me as well, because I couldn't help but wonder how long it would last, how long would I be assured that all was well, before everything turned itself upside-down all over again.
His bed was big and comfortable, and there was plenty of room to stretch out, if I'd wanted to, which I ought to have done, but I was happiest cuddled up right beside him. That was how I'd fallen asleep, snuggled up against his back, but sometime during the night he'd turned toward me, and now had his arms wrapped tightly around me. It should have scared me, to awaken and find myself as I was, after all, I didn't really know him, but the truth was that I felt perfectly safe, and took advantage of his exhaustion to study him as closely as I wanted to, which was something that I had been denied until that moment.
He was a good looking man, and I didn't mean that he was passably attractive; I meant that he was the sort of man who would encourage you to stop and have a better look, maybe even two or three. He looked years younger than he was when he slept, almost like a little boy, and I had to fight the urge to lean forward and press my lips against his brow. I wondered if the case was the same with everyone, if the cares that plagued us while we were awake melted away, and we regained our youth, if only for a few hours at a time, and if that was the case, did it apply to me as well? Did I look like my old self while I slept, or was my damage too deep to ever leave me be?
Eames. The man who'd rescued me, the man who was protecting me, the one who'd made me promises. The handsome man who was holding me tight in his arms, the way that a man held a woman when he cared about her, but that wasn't possible, was it? How could he care about me, when he didn't know me? Was there a woman out there somewhere who loved him? Did he love her as well? Did she usually sleep where I was at that moment, and if so, was that who he believed he was holding? Did he have any idea at all that it was me who was in his arms instead, and if so, was that why he was cuddling me so close….?
Dear God, what on earth was wrong with me? I barely knew this man, I didn't know much about him, beyond his name, that his home was very masculine in nature, one which smacked of money, and that he had saved me from the clutches of death…and that was all that I needed to know to trust him with every fiber of my being. That was the reason that I wanted him beside me at all times, that was why I panicked when he was away from me, that was why I hugged him close to me…at least, that was what I told myself, though I couldn't help but wonder if there was something more to my reaction to him, something that I didn't want to ponder, that I didn't want to accept, because I knew that he might hurt me, very badly, in the end.
My experience with men in the past was pretty much nonexistent, and all that I'd known for the last decade was fear and loathing and pain, so I wasn't sure what I ought to do, now that I was all alone with him. There was a part of me, an intelligent part, I would imagine, that told me that I ought to go back to sleep, because that would be the normal thing for me to do, but I didn't want to close my eyes. I felt safe in his arms, I felt warm and secure, but I was still scared what I might see if I closed my eyes, truth be told, there was terror roiling through me, right beneath the surface, and if I closed my eyes, if I let my guard down, it would have me again, and who was going to save me from my own mind?
I wondered if Scruffy felt like I'd abandoned him, because though he was sharing the bed with me and Eames, he was doing so from the other side, as opposed to me cuddling him close in my arms and taking solace in his presence…Oh, dear God…I really was crazy, wasn't I? I knew that Scruffy wasn't really alive, truly I did, but why was I thinking about him in a sense that said that he was just as real as I was?
That sort of thing wasn't going to help me prove that I was sane to the shrink that they were taking me to tomorrow, if I started babbling like a loon about my good friend Scruffy the Dog, was it? Of course, my borderline obsession with a man that I barely knew was bound to be another issue that alarmed the doctor, if it was to come up, and how could it not, given that I tended to break out in a cold sweat whenever I wasn't close to Eames?
He shifted in his sleep and rubbed his face against his pillow, once, twice, and then a third time, and then he murmured something, a sigh of a whisper that I couldn't hear. None of that really mattered to me, it turned out, because he suddenly moved his head closer to mine, and was now near enough to me that all it would have taken was a simple lift of my face, and I could have pressed my lips against his. I could have kissed him, if I'd wanted to, and it was unlikely that he would have felt it, but I didn't dare…so I touched his hair instead.
One unruly lock had fallen onto his forehead and I raised my hand to run a fingertip over the silken strands, rubbing them between my thumb and index finger before I tucked them back into place. I should have stopped there, I should have known that I had done enough, but I just couldn't keep myself from smoothing my palm over his hair, reveling in its softness, and several moments went by before I'd had my fill and started to lower my hand…only to be caught red-handed, so to speak, when his eyes opened suddenly and locked on to mine.
My heart started to hammer in my chest, as a matter of fact; it was thumping so furiously that I wouldn't have been surprised if he could feel its frantic rhythm. I waited for him to say something mean, after all, I had woken him, and I knew that he was exhausted, but he didn't seem to be the least bit irritated with me. He handled me waking him the same way that he reacted to me wrecking his room, in a manner that was very calm and collected, as if he was simply taking it all in stride.
"Hello, Sophie," he said softly, running one of his hands up and down my back in a soft caress that I swore I felt through my entire body. "Why aren't you asleep, my dear? Did you have a bad dream?"
I wasn't really sure what had happened to wake me up, I couldn't remember the particulars of my dreams, but they had to have been nightmares, given my reluctance to close my eyes. "It's not safe for me to go to sleep," I told him, electing for honesty, no matter how crazy it might have sounded to him. "I'm sorry that I woke you up as well. Would it be better if I slept in that chair by the window, so that I won't disturb you?"
Everything inside of me was praying that he wouldn't say yes, I knew that I would be devastated if he wanted me to leave, but I had to give him that option, didn't I? He had every right to expect an uninterrupted night of sleep, he hadn't promised to wake with me each and every time that a bad dream took hold of me, and I had no business at all in begging him to do so…no matter how much I might have wanted to.
"There's no reason why you should be apologizing to me, Sophie," he said, moving his hand from my back to my cheek, which he held, and then caressed, before he lowered his hand to find mine, holding it tightly in his own and stroking his thumb across mine. "Nothing bad is going to happen, because I'm here to protect you. You can close your eyes, and try to sleep, because if a bad dream comes, then you can always open them again, can't you? And why would I want you to sleep in that chair by the window, when I'm so happy to have you here by my side?"
I didn't know if he wanted me to answer him aloud. I hoped that he didn't expect me to do so, because I had no idea whatsoever about what I could, or should say in response. There were plenty of things that I wanted to say to him, but I was too scared to open myself that completely, and made do instead with moving our hands, so that they rested between our bodies, perilously close to my breasts, and after I took a deep, fortifying breath I closed my eyes, so that I could try to sleep.
The last thing that I felt, as my exhaustion took hold of me, were his lips as they softly touched my forehead, and the last thing that I heard was him whispering to me, something that sounded like, My Sophie, but that couldn't have been real, could it? I had to have imagined it…hadn't I?
Eames' POV
It was fortunate for me that I had so much practice with forgeries, as a matter of fact, I'd taken a great deal of pleasure in sauntering over to Detective Morris Raymond and asking him a few questions about McGill, much more enjoyment that I ought to have felt, to be perfectly honest. I had waited to see if he would recognize me, but my skills were firmly in place, all of my mastery was at work, and all that he beheld was what I meant for him to see, and that was Simon Jensen, a news reporter who was practically bursting at the seams with excitement while he waited for the curtains to open, so that he might feast upon the final moments of Garrett McGill's life.
Poor McGill, he'd had his heart set on being hanged for his crimes, so that he might go out of this world in the same manner that his idol, Denton Clayton Newell, had chosen, but unfortunately for him, that method was not offered in the state where he was convicted, hence the needles, and ampules of sodium thiopental, pancuronium bromide, and potassium chloride which were waiting, anxiously, I hoped, to make a close, albeit, brief, acquaintance with his veins.
We were denied the experience of watching the staff insert the needles into his arms, which was a disappointment for me, because I would have enjoyed memorizing the sight, for my own peace of mind, but once that had happened, and after we were all told to take our seats, the curtains opened, and there he was, all laid out for our enjoyment. The bastard was smiling, which I'd expected, which I'd prepared myself for, as best as I could, and he took the time to look over the crowd, one by one, and once more I prepared myself for recognition to dawn, but he skipped over me without a second glance, just as he did all of the others in the room.
I couldn't help but feel a tad bit disappointed that he hadn't known me, at the same time that I felt a tremendous amount of relief. The moment was drawing nearer and nearer, the instant when I would reveal the truth, only to him, mind you, of whom I was, but that would have to wait until he'd had the say that was promised to him. I wouldn't want to run the risk of him revealing me to the others in the room, the ones who had helped him, who'd undermined me and mine as we sought to rescue Sophie. In all honesty, what I was planning to do was very risky, but I had to do it, I had to let him know that he had lost; I just hoped that my risk wouldn't prove to be stupidity after all was said and done.
I expected for him to drone on and on in his final statement, after all, those who were like him usually did, but when he was asked if he had any last words he simply smiled at the warden, and then turned his attention back to the crowd. "Sure do, Boss," he said genially, laughing a little, before he licked his lips and sighed. "Mmm…Fern Jacobs, Olivia McMann, Christy Jones, Shiloh Bressler, Jenna Rogers, Lorna Crosby, Leah Miller, Chandra Howell, Erin Talbot, Michelle Loomis, Sybil Horowitz, Debbie Owens, Becky Hayes, Alice McDonald, Rose Callen, Carlie Adams, Jennifer Rollins, Alyssa Newman, Sarah Potter, Bella DiPaulo, Amber Reynolds, Renee Casler, Tracy Hale, Zoe Tucker, Kelly Meara and Sophie Evans."
The weeping began when he started to recite his list, and it grew stronger and stronger, until the deputies moved throughout the room, offering tissues and gentle words of warning that everyone needed to try their best to compose themselves. I wasn't crying, even though there was a lump in my throat as I looked around the room, taking in the faces of those who'd loved the victims, and then that lump was taken from me, replaced by red-hot anger as my gaze returned to McGill, seething for all of those that he'd hurt, whose lives he'd destroyed, my Sophie's included, and the torture of being forced to listen to his noxious voice as he spoke her name aloud.
"Hmm…that's all I got to say, Boss," he said, giggling as he looked out at the crowd, and I knew that my moment had come. I retrieved the photo that I had taken that morning from my bag, the one that I had posed for, with Sophie held tightly against me, and when his gaze landed upon me I held it up for his perusal. It hadn't been serendipity that I'd been given this seat, I'd worked things so that I would have the chair that was nearest to him, the one that would ensure that he would see the photo clearly, and the guards hadn't given a second thought to the fact that I was carrying a photo of a man and a woman with me, because I wasn't the only one in the room who'd brought along a memento that they wanted McGill to see.
His eyes didn't move away from me that time, they sharpened instead upon the picture, and I had the honor, the soul deep, satisfying pleasure of seeing the epiphany as it seized hold of him in its grasp. His eyes narrowed as he studied the picture, then grew furious as he recognized us, and it was all that I could do to keep from laughing as I smiled at him and mouthed the words, Enjoy your eternity in Hell, you sick bastard.
He started to say something, to voice his outrage aloud, but unfortunately for him, the first drug, the one that rendered him unconscious, was administered, and his eyelids fluttered closed before he could say a single word. I wasn't all that keen on the notion of watching the rest of the execution, I wasn't all that fond of witnessing someone's death, no matter what they'd done in life, but I would do so anyway because I wanted to go home to Sophie, I wanted to hold her close and tell her that McGill would never hurt her again, with the undeniable reassurance in my heart that watching him leave this world would provide, that what I told her was the truth.
