Chapter Twenty-Six
It took Marianne fifteen minutes to quickly pack a few more things from her bungalow, get out the door, and rush to the paddock. She was sweating again, her heart bombarding, and her breath coming heavily and weighty in her chest as she'd roared into the paddock area, barely missing a guy on an ATV hauling a huge branch. He'd flipped her off when she slammed the brakes next to her Camaro – abandoned and sitting in the sunshine, now seemingly dominant compared to the weather yesterday.
She flew out of the truck – surprisingly, in a sundress and boots. Marianne hadn't thought she'd be called back to the paddock so soon and had decided to wear something appropriate for their dinner tonight with Sophie, which she was still up in arms about the child reading deeper into their conversation anyway. So, she'd decided to be adventurous and wear the same red sundress she'd worn her first day, complete with a pair of boots that had a buckle, and her hair tied up into a bun with tendrils around her face.
Now, as Briggs and the cleanup crew he was working with stopped to stare at her as she hurried towards the containment unit, she was regretting her decision already. Thank goodness she hadn't been wearing makeup, or it would've been melted off her face by the time she got passed the first door and spotted Owen inside the cage. Barry was nowhere to be seen.
Heart hammering, she called out, "Owen!" He abruptly got up off the stool and hurried towards the cage wall, and she met him there. Groping for her card, she pressed it against the scanner – only to find it buzz annoyingly at her, flashing red. She slammed it again, only to find the same action. Her hands were fumbling when Owen finally opened the door for her.
To her own shock, she flew past him and hustled towards Delta's bedside. She halted before fully getting there, the insane beeping of the monitor capturing her attention. She furrowed her brow and frowned at the machine, which showed rapid heart rates and plunging blood pressures, as well as decent oxygen levels – but overall, abnormal readings. She, panting, looked at Delta, who was trembling and thrashing and snorting loudly, her eye scanning her furiously. Marianne suddenly regretted her abrupt and rushed entry and Owen came up beside her. He took her hand and gave her a weak smile.
"How long has she been like this?" Marianne whispered, her voice shaky and concerned. She felt genuinely afraid, standing here beside Delta, knowing she was as sick and in pain as she was. Her eyes caught the blood splotched on the gauze and her mouth parched. She looked at Owen again, her face softening.
"Since I called you," he sighed, "I'm not sure if it's pain or what, but she's acting like she's never seen me before. Usually I can get them to calm down, you know that."
Marianne nodded, swallowing, "Did you call Peter?"
He nodded.
She turned to Delta and slowly moved onto the stool, locking her stare with Delta. It was as if the animal's soul was crying out to her – she was lost, afraid, confused, and hurting. Marianne could see it all pooling up inside of her eyes, which were so skitterish and so displaced – unsure and so unlike normal. Usually these yes could cut Marianne to pieces, render her powerless and unsure of her own existence, much less make her feel strong and empowered. But now, they were like the eyes of a lost and sick child wanting their mom, or some kind of compassion – they were begging and pleading for help, but fighting to stay alive, stay safe, stay in control.
She wheeled, hand extended, to Delta's side and gently let her hand fall to her brow. Instantly, Delta shrieked, but Marianne brought her face close and touched her brow to Delta's nose – the animal unable to thrash her head, given restraints. With a shaky and uneasy hand, Marianne began stroking Delta's brow, with the other she placed it tenderly over her restrained arm, letting it slowly move down until it rested on her sharp and poised talon. She stroked it calmly, closing her eyes. Steadying her breathing, she cooed the animal as if she would a scared child clinging to her for dear life – which, she imagined Delta doing at that very moment. Her soul reached out for the animal's, and she felt Delta's reaching out to. Every nerve within Marianne was exploding with fire, but she didn't care – it could've been a thousand degrees and she wouldn't have cared.
She released a warm breath, letting it float on Delta's skin. "Hey, Delta. Shh. It's me, Marianne – your friend. I'm here to help," her tone was low and raspy, like it always was when she was whispering. She could feel the words catching in her throat, but determined not to show weakness, she swallowed her throb. "Everything is okay, my sweet girl. I'm right here – right here," She opened her eyes and turned her head slightly to find Owen standing at Delta's head, one arm wrapped around his chest, the other rubbing his mustache. She closed her eyes slowly and reopened them, sighing.
If this is what parents felt like sitting and watching their children die in a hospital, Marianne thought her soul was going to die. She couldn't imagine if this was her own child, sitting here in pain, lost and confused, scared beyond belief and fighting to stay in control and stay the predator, the one on top. A tear slipped out of her eye and Marianne quickly blinked the rest away – in a way, this was her child. She'd invested so many years into studying these animals with Alan and living in wonder of their memory, their existence on this earth. She'd invested four weeks in caring for these animals and noting their behaviors and learning how to better care for them, though she hadn't spent much time training with them at all. And, she'd spent time getting to know their Alpha – the man she had found herself falling for before she even knew she'd tripped.
She whispered, even quieter – to the point where she knew Delta would be the only one to hear her. "I'm so, so sorry, Delta. So sorry." She nuzzled her brow tighter into Delta's nose, felt the animal's snort tousle her curls, and made small circles on her skin with her fingertip. She sat there, blocking out everything besides Delta, until she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.
Then, she felt warm breath swirling around her ear and down her neck, playing with the curls around her face, which tickled her collarbone. Owen's smell of jungle, rain, animal and, oddly, peppermint sent her senses whirling about her head and made her lose her nerve. She choked on a sob and felt her body begin to tremble as his body lowered into a crouch beside her stool. But, strangely enough, the urge to cry left her and instead she was filled with pitting anger, then oddly enough joy as his other hand rested respectively on her thigh. He bobbed on his legs, then nuzzled his nose into her neck and inhaled deeply, sending her stomach soaring. His mustache tickled her soft skin.
"You okay?" He breathed, his voice sounding not only like bourbon, but also like warm honey sent over her skin to displace any fear or worries she'd ever had in her entire life. She felt her resolve melt into a puddle around her heart, and every piece of her felt exposed there with him at Delta's side.
"I don't know," she whispered, "I…I just hate seeing her like this."
His arms slowly snaked around her middle and pulled her close, the stool rolling only slightly. He stayed strong, planted like a firm oak tree that had been rooted there since forever. She melted into him and let her hands fall from Delta, her head still resting against the animal's snout, Delta still snorting and breathing heavily. But not longer trembling. Owen said nothing, just held her there, and she whispered. "Thank God for you, Owen."
He chuckled, "I do too."
She gave a weak and defeated chuckle, "I can't believe just yesterday we weren't us. It feels like it's been this way forever."
"It's a good feeling," he breathed onto her skin, raising his chin to plant a gentle kiss behind her ear. He smiled and chuckled, his lips brushing against her hair and he gave her an affectionate squeeze, "I was a fool at the bottom of the hill, Marianne. I should've kissed you – I feel like I should've kissed you a thousand times already. I have no idea what's happened to my life – but I know it's a good type of not knowing."
She smiled but didn't say anything. Just hearing his voice was like sweet music to her ears. She closed her eyes again and breathed, a mixture of his peppermint smell and Delta's smell of iodine and animal sent her mind whirling in a thousand directions. She focused her mind for a moment, wondering if she could picture her life anywhere but here in this moment – and, oddly enough, she couldn't. She couldn't imagine being anywhere else than right here, in Jurassic World, with Owen Grady and his raptor Delta. And, as insane as that picture sounded – she didn't want to be anywhere else.
'This feels like a dream,"
"It's not – god, it's not," he inhaled her scent again. "Whatever you use in your hair is the best smelling thing since tequila."
She let out a laugh, but then quickly bit her lower lip.
"You're a piece or work,"
"You love it and you know it."
She pushed back slightly from Delta and swiveled in her chair to face him, taking his hands in hers. He was still crouched, staring at her with eyes that seemed as if they were the deepest parts of the oceans now illuminated and beautifully complete.
Then, abruptly, the door past the cage gate opened and bounced on the hinges, Peter and Neela hustling through, carrying a kit and donning their white coats. Peter scanned his card, hurried through, nodding at them. Neela gave them an unsure and quizzical look, then set the stuff on the floor as Peter was already shooting off orders for a chart and vitals.
Owen stood and took Marianne's hand with him, and she rose. He welcomed her into an embrace, her wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her head against his hard chest, feeling the tightness and listening to his heartbeat – which was steady and calm, despite the circumstances. Again, she got the feeling that she felt like a parent watching her child sit in a hospital, doctor's and nurses hovering about and fixing everything that she had failed to anticipate – and that Owen was her man, standing beside her, being the rock she needed to keep from swaying.
Marianne hadn't heard Barry come to the cage, but she saw him from the corner of her eye lace his fingers through the cage and lift his chin to her. She instantly released Owen and looked up to him, then left his embrace and ventured over to Barry, Owen not far behind. She crossed her arms over her abdomen as Barry puffed out a breath, shifting his weight on his feet.
"What's up, Barry?" Owen asked quietly. Marianne dared a look over her shoulder to Delta, to find Neela and Peter set to changing her bandage. She turned back to Barry and watched him rub his jaw awkwardly.
"Claire just called the office," he said, his voice filling with frustration, "And she said a Cesna just landed, claiming to be here on a documentation assignment for a journal article or something."
Marianne's brows rose, and she looked at Owen. He gave her a look that read "Okay, so?" and they both turned back to Barry. She waited expectantly, half her mind on Delta – no, probably more than three quarters. Actually she didn't know where her mind was at this moment, because she was exhausted and beyond herself at this point.
Barry continued, "She wants you at the resort right away, Marianne. Said something about Alan Grant and Ian Malcolm and a bunch of other things I won't care to mention. She was really, really upset."
Instantly, before Barry had even closed his mouth, Marianne was out of the cage and bolting for the door. Her heart exploded as it a grenade had set off within her chest, capturing every inch of her attention and stealing her breath. She felt like she couldn't breathe and her legs were moving so fast she hadn't realized she possessed so much speed. She flung herself out the door, bolted for the Camaro, and fumbled with the door. Whipping herself inside, she didn't hesitate to blindly turn the key. In a blur, she punched the gas, whipped the wheel to dodge the truck she'd arrived in, and tore out the paddock – tires spinning, leaving behind marks.
The resort was packed – people were mulling about everywhere, relieved to be out of the resort and other buildings and back to life at Jurassic World. Marianne could hear the chatter even inside the car, which was steaming hot inside and causing her to sweat again, but she didn't care and couldn't even fathom A/C. Her eyes scanned everywhere among the crowds of people, all pushing and shoving and lazily moving along as if the world wasn't ending – which, Marianne was pretty sure it was and she was the only one aware or even the least bit concerned. Slapping the wheel, she gritted her teeth, threw the car into park, and popped open the door, somehow remembering the keys.
Staggering out and almost slipping, she slammed the door – Claire would probably have it towed. She stumbled forward, her body in a tense and awkward state halfway between shock and terror, and she slammed right into a woman carrying a beach bag. She mumbled an apology, managed to make it across the courtyard to the Samsung building, and hurried up the steps.
Instantly when she walked through the doors, she was greeted by two security guards in their formals. They seized her arms and promptly hauled her towards the steps, escorting her up. She was in such an amazed stupor looking around the building that she didn't care that people where murmuring and pointing at her, or that she was panting and sweating and nervous beyond belief. At the top of the steps, the escorted her to the front desk, where Vivian, the man called Lowery, and Claire were waiting for her – along with three other recent arrivals, all carrying luggage.
She froze when her eyes landed on the familiar fedora, and the guards stopped abruptly, jerked back by her sudden weight. Her eyes widened and her body tensed, her heart now anchoring itself at home in her ankles. It was like a movie had went into slow motion and everyone other than her was stopped. She could feel every part of her body, every organ moving within her, and she thought for a minute that she had died. Marianne had long since stopped breathing and reminded herself to inhale a fresh breath through her nose.
Vivian looked to her, pointed subtly, and signaled the three new arrivals to turn around as Claire came stalking towards her like an uncaged animal about to slaughter something. Marianne, upon seeing Alan quickly shirked off the escorts grip and staggered forward, slowly, one step at a time, until her eyes landed on the man with dyed black hair and a black polo – Ian Malcolm, she recognized, who waved at her and smiled broadly. Then, her eyes leveled on the third man – a man in his early thirties with facial hair and familiar brown eyes that sent her memories screaming at her to run away as fast as humanly possible.
Claire was about to engage her, but Marianne ignored her and moved past the woman in jeans and sandals, until she came to three men. It was as if time itself had checked out, leaving her trapped within this moment and within the hundreds of stories she'd heard from her time in Montana. It was oddly familiar, this feeling – seeing Alan, Ian and Nick together. Like déjà vu that she'd never experienced before. Almost holy, almost whimsical. Her face distorted into one of confusion and surprise, and she crossed her arms over her middle, looking between the three of them. She said nothing, until Malcolm broke the silence.
"Good to see you too, kid." He chuckled. Marianne's eyes leveled on him then turned back to Alan, who was staring at her with a small smile – but his eyes were frightened, panicked, almost terrorized. She could almost feel the years crashing into him and reminding him of the times of Jurassic Park, that this was a bad omen. Marianne, with an arm still wrapped around her middle, used the other to gesture between the three of them.
"What in the name of God are the three of you doing here?" She sounded like a wife that was standing in disbelief in front of her husband and his friends, utterly agitated and beyond confusion in the situation. She didn't have to wonder if her brow was wrinkled, because she felt it all the way into her neck. Marianne looked between the three of them, expectant. When they said nothing and Vivian and Lowery exchanged glances, she asked again. "Well?"
"You said you needed some help, Marianne and –" Alan took a step forward. She put up her hands, waving at him to stop, taking a half step back as she shook her head, trying to make the pieces fall together in her brain. Her eyes opened on the man to his right, the one that looked oddly like Nick Van Owen, but she was sure it was a figment of her imagination.
"No, no, you said you were going to talk to me later." She said the statement to Alan, but her eyes were cemented on the man. "You didn't say you were coming to the island!"
"Well, it is later," Alan started. Her gaze shifted to him and she glared. Her raised his hands and approached her, placing them on her shoulders. "I only came because you said this was urgent. You know I wouldn't have if I didn't think you were in some deep crap."
She all out frowned at him. "I know you wouldn't come because you vowed you never would," she crossed her arms over her chest, "what about everything you told me about this place, huh? Alan –"
He shushed her, "We'll talk about this later. Right now I think you're about to get your butt royally chewed by carrot top over there," he gestured to Claire with his eyes, "I just wanted to see you before you got you got your butt handed to you. She's putting us up in the resort," he moved in to whisper in her ear, "I think she's being halfway decent to save face, but then I could be wrong."
"You brought Malcolm with you?"
He nodded, opened his mouth to speak. But she didn't let him.
"And who's that?" She asked, her voice dropping. The look in Alan's eyes confirmed everything she'd been fearing since she first laid eyes on the man, and something within her froze over and retreated deep into her belly. Her throat constricted, her heart pitched, and she felt her skin glaze over with an icy sheen that sent goosebumps over her arms. She felt sick to her stomach, and dared a look at him – only to glance away quickly when he looked at her. All the hurt she had suppressed within herself over Nick Van Owen quickly resubmerged, and she pushed away from Alan and turned, hustling back down the stairs. "No, no, no, no I can't do this. Won't do this. Just no, no, no!" Claire, Alan, Malcolm, the security guards, and Nick all hurried to the balcony's railings above her, but she was already weaving in between people to get to the door. Pushing it open as if she were desperate for air, she stumbled through it before one of them called out her name after her.
She hit the open air, took in a deep breath, grabbed at her hair, and screamed.