Chapter Twenty-Five
Eames' POV
Sophie was not waiting for me outside, even though that was where she was supposed to be. My first thought was that she must have ducked into the loo on her way out, and I parked by the curb to wait for her. I lolled my head on my seat and smiled, then laughed out loud. Today was a good day, a damned good day, as a matter of fact, because the Queen of Mean was on a plane, she was somewhere over the Atlantic, and it was my fervent hope that I would never see her again. The only reason that she'd visited me at all was so she could do her best to convince me to give up my claim to the inheritance that my father had left me. That was something that would never happen, in my mind I had earned that money by surviving sixteen years in the same house with my haggish mother, and in the end I'd left her with no doubts about where I stood.
"This was the only thing that he could do to make up for saddling me with a mother like you," I'd told her, taking care to keep my voice as quiet and calm as I could, lest she believe that she was capable of controlling my emotions. "It is piss-poor compensation, to be sure, but it is better than a swift, hard kick in the arse, and I will happily claim it as my own."
She'd wrinkled her nose as I spoke, and I'd known that it was in response to the fact that I'd resorted, once more, to language that was "vulgar, profane and disgustingly low-class" in nature, as opposed to being a reaction to what I'd said. The thing that my mother valued most was appearance, because that was what determined how you were regarded by others, and she was obsessed with speaking correctly, behaving correctly and living correctly, ergo expletives were a big no-no in her reality.
"I cannot help but notice that you do not place any of the blame for your supposed unhappiness on your father, Archibald," she'd said, standing in that way that I'd learned as a wee lad, the one that said that I was just moments away from a paddling. "Are you suffering from a tragically early case of dementia, or are you willing to overlook the fact that he was an utter failure as a father because he left you a sizeable inheritance?"
I'd known that it was childish for me to respond to her question by rolling my eyes, but I hadn't been able to resist the need to do so. I'd been fairly certain that she'd expected me to do so, just as I'd anticipated that she would react in a negative way to the fact that I had, so, needless to say, I was not surprised when she lifted a single, perfectly tweezed eyebrow in response. That brow, paired with her stance, ought to have made me feel weak in the knees in the worst way possible, given what would have followed in the past, but I was not a child any longer. I was a grown man, I had raised myself for the most part after Nanny passed away, and I wasn't about to allow my tyrannical mother to boss me about, as if she still had the right to do so.
"I do not blame him for much of anything, Mother, given that he seemed content to simply ignore me, as opposed to going out of his way to make my life a living hell, as you chose to do," I'd snapped, curling my hands into fists at my sides, while I'd reminded myself, time and time again, inside my head, that I could not allow her to incite me to react in a violent fashion. "I could not help but envy my friends their families, their mothers in particular, as I was growing up, because they did not know what it was like to be cursed with the knowledge that the woman who'd given birth to you despised you, that she loathed the sight of you, so much so that she wanted to see you suffer night and day for the inequities of another….."
"You've said all of this before, Archibald, frequently, in fact, and it is really growing quite tiresome to hear the same melodramatic drivel over and over again," she'd sighed, relaxing her stance, along with her brow, when she saw that she could not frighten me into submission any longer with either of those warnings from the past. "I carried you, didn't I; I didn't abort you, even though I could have done so. I gave birth to you; I brought your squalling, horribly red body into the world with no complaint at all. Do I not deserve some credit for allowing you to live? What more could be expected from me, Archibald? Could you tell me what I ought to have done, as your mother, and limit your response to that which is not mired in sentiment, or the misguided notions that have pervaded the minds of humankind since everyone became so fixated on their feelings?"
I'd stared at her in shock for several moments, rendered speechless by her cold and callous view of motherhood. I'd always known that she was devoid of any feelings that were maternal in nature, but I'd never allowed myself to acknowledge the fact that she was barren where most human emotions were concerned. She'd managed to retain all of the feelings that were harmful, and, at times, detrimental to the human spirit, but all of those which were healing and essential, those which most people yearned for and took care to nurture could not be found within her. They had been forcibly removed, carved out, to leave her soulless shell behind…if, indeed, they had ever existed at all.
"Congratulations, Mother," I'd whispered, once I'd regained the ability to speak. "You have something in common with every stray bitch that ever paused in her everyday life to whelp her offspring in a filthy ditch, and that's something to be proud of, isn't it?"
I shook my head against my seat, pushing against my eyes with the heels of my hands, in a desperate bid to hold back my tears. I was so grateful for the fact that I hadn't cried in front of her, I was proud that I'd managed to hold back my emotions, which she undoubtedly would have viewed as "tiresome and melodramatic", until I was out of her presence. It occurred to me that I'd been very unfair, cruelly so, to the stray dog that I'd compared my mother to, because canine mothers took good care of their pups for the most part. I suppose that I'd chosen that example because it offered me the chance to call her a bitch, but that didn't make up for the fact that it had been completely unmerited just the same, did it?
I quickly shook off the momentary pang of guilt that I felt for all of the doggie mothers that I'd maligned and glanced at the clock in my console. What on earth could be keeping Sophie? It was understandable for her to need a quick stop in the Ladies on her way out, but surely she ought to be done by now, shouldn't she? Of course, there was always the chance that her session with her therapist had run late as well, especially if she was conveying her experiences with my mother to him, but surely she would have called me if she realized that she was going to be tardy, wouldn't she?
She was different, changed in so many ways, and he didn't like it, not one damned bit. She was frightened, standing beside the hardened cop, clearly believing that life as she'd known it since she'd been rescued was about to change, but Jude could see that there were other emotions within her as well, ones which were struggling against her sense of terror for domination.
She wasn't supposed to allow courage to take root within her. She ought to have lost the ability to hope, or to get angry and fight back against the one who meant to hurt her. She had discovered her strength in her absence, she'd regained some of who she'd once been, and that made him angry, furious even, so much so that it was all that he could do to remain in the shadows, hidden out of sight, until his moment arrived.
She was still beautiful, achingly so, but not in the way that he'd grown to love. He wanted her lovely fragility, but that was gone, replaced with an exquisiteness that was still delicate, but not so much that it would be shattered with one touch. That man had changed her, he had given her the opportunity to be strong and she'd flourished in his care in the worst possible way. She wasn't Jude's any longer; she wouldn't shudder and cry when he touched her anymore. She would fight back, she would try to hurt him, to kill him and there was something that was even worse, something that made his anger roil about within him...
She no longer belonged to him down there. That man had touched her, more than that, he had claimed her, and he'd possessed her, even though he hadn't had any right to do so. There was an awareness in her eyes that hadn't been there before, and, most devastating of all, there was an emotion that lingered in her gaze, one that could only be called love. Jude had never felt so betrayed in all of his life, even though he'd endured more than his fair share of disloyalty where those that he loved were concerned.
He hated the fact that she would have to be punished before her moment arrived. It would make things less pleasant for him, to castigate the flesh that he knew would bring him so much pleasure, but she had to be cleansed before she could be taken. She had to be made new before he could claim her, she had to be purified before she could belong to him completely, and she would have no one to blame but herself when all was said and done.
Eames' POV
Fifteen minutes had passed, and she was still inside. I knew that there were several reasons why she hadn't joined me; all of which were understandable and reasonable in nature, but that didn't stop my temper from rising. She ought to have known better than to worry me at a time like this, with all of the danger that threatened us from every corner of our lives. She was supposed to let me know if she was running late, or if she had to visit the loo for the longest pee ever, and the fact that she hadn't done so made me mad as hell.
I slapped my palms against the steering wheel, very slowly at first, then progressively faster, and harder, as I glared at the door of her doctor's office, willing her to appear and set my mind at ease. I knew that I was on the verge of behaving badly, I could feel my temper growing by leaps and bounds and knew that I was moments away from making a spectacle, not to mention as ass, of myself, but damned if I could suppress the urge to do so. I was still harboring the remnants of my fear and anger from what had happened the last time that she hadn't waited for me and the knowledge that she would wander off without me again not only hurt me, it enraged me as well…..
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I hissed, moving one hand off of the steering wheel and smacking it against my cheek, hard, to bring me back to my senses. "She's in the Ladies, having a pee, or running overtime with her doctor, or fixing her bloody makeup after her marathon peeing session, and your response is to believe that she betrayed your trust? Granted, you've been waiting for half an hour, and that would make anyone a little antsy, possibly even annoyed, verging on angry, but what right do you have to fly off the handle?"
I readied my hand for another smack, to ensure that I felt the full brunt of my foolishness, when suddenly the door to the doctor's office opened. I hoped to see Sophie walking outside, my heart leapt in my chest, because I thought that it would be her…but it wasn't her. It was a man instead, one who looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties, a balding average Joe, with a mustache, one who I recognized, upon closer inspection, as Dr. Axton, who set his briefcase on the ground at his feet while he locked the door…..
Wait just a damned minute. Why in hell was he locking his door, while Sophie was still inside…if she was still inside?
All of the frustration that I'd felt left me in a heartbeat, replaced by a bone chilling sense of fear as it dawned on me that something awful might have happened to Sophie. I'd been so busy assuming, and dwelling on my memories, not to mention feeling irritated, enraged and betrayed, to even consider that something, or, God help me, someone might have kept her from coming to me.
Dr. Axton started a bit when I flung open the door of my car and rushed toward him. I had a feeling that he was preparing to defend himself as I approached him, but something stopped him at the last moment. He uncurled his fists as he looked at me, disarmed, I would imagine, by the look of horror that must have been on my face. He didn't even flinch as I rushed toward him, he held out his hand instead, though I couldn't say whether he intended the action as one to greet me or one to calm me…or both.
"Take it easy, son," he said quietly, soothingly, though he needn't have bothered, because there would be no comfort to be found for me until I was certain that Sophie was safe. "I'm guessing that you're my new patient and I'm willing to honor our appointment, in spite of the fact that you're so late, but I'm going to have to insist that you calm down before you come inside."
I took a deep breath, then another, followed by yet another, a dozen in all, before I felt like I could respond without raising my voice.
"I'm not your new patient," I told him, curling my fingers into the fabric of the legs of my trousers, in a bid to keep them from sinking into my hair and pulling it out by the roots. "I'm here to pick up one of your patients, Sophie Evans. She should have been waiting for me, but she's not, and it's obvious that she's not inside either, so could you do me a favor and tell me where the hell she is, Doc?"
I waited for him to give me some sort of "doctor/patient privilege" rubbish, at which time I would come apart at the seams and show him the full extent of my temper, but he didn't say anything about any of that. He looked me over instead, focusing on my eyes, and for some odd reason, on my lips as well, almost as if it was dawning on him that he knew me, that he recognized me, and he determined that I could be trusted.
"You must be Mr. Eames," he said, bending down, to retrieve his case. "Sophie has told me all about you. I can't say where she is with any certainty, but I do know that she came out here to wait for you. Our session ended a little early and normally she would have stayed inside to wait for you, but I had another appointment and she didn't want to make my new patient uneasy while he waited…you don't think that anything could have happened to her, do you?"