Sara paced the floor in the white guest room trying to relax a little. It
had been such a pleasant evening, that wonderful dinner, the gallery with
its new answers and new questions, the tour of the house and short walk
with the dogs in the gardens. It had been nice, in spite of the new
information fighting for space in her brain. It made her forget how
nervous this place made her. Now she was alone in this elegant room that
was not much smaller than her apartment. Her pajama bottoms and tee shirt
that were usually so comfortable, felt out of place in this beautiful room.
She lay down on the bed. It was nice, but her mind would not stop
turning. She wished she had brought a book, a case file, something to
read, some music, anything. She even wished she could have asked for the
puppy back, at least little Maria would be company, if not particularly
good for the furniture. She briefly considered going to the library for a
book, but she could not face it in the darkness, afraid of what she might
see. While she had a lot to say to Kenneth Irons, tonight was not the
night to get confronted by his ghost. She wondered if Ian had ever seen
him, if that was what had led to his flight, but did not want to ask.
Ian, she missed Ian. Sara had become so used to him being around, in the apartment, in her life, and now he was somewhere in this house, farther away than she had felt from him since he had practically collapsed on her a week ago. He had walked her to the bedroom door, the perfect gentleman, given her a soft kiss and disappeared down the hall before she could say anything. She had wanted to ask him to come in, to stay with her, but she had just been unwilling, unable to do so. Sara wished she knew where he was in this expensive mausoleum. Why did one man need so much house anyway? Just like Irons to have a house big enough to lose a large family in for himself alone.
The answer came to her in a flash and she wondered why she had not seen it before. Why couldn't she just find him, go to him? They were gambling everything on tomorrow, on the fact that people would listen and believe. Why should they be apart tonight? He was probably at least as nervous as she was. Besides, she really did not want another night alone with only the dreams she had been having for company. She reached out and located him. Now all she had to do was make it through the darkened house. Decision made, Sara left her room for the half-light of the hall. After a false start and at least one wrong turn, she made her way down a long corridor that she had not seen earlier. It was lined with what were no doubt priceless pieces of art and antiquities and ended in a double door. She had no doubt whose room that was, had been, and it was not her destination. She found a smaller hallway at the junction leading to a flight of stairs. She took them down to the next floor, realizing that she was getting nearer; she could feel Ian clear and close. Sara went to the first door, took a deep breath and knocked.
Ian had come back to his room after escorting Sara to hers. She was here, in the house, and it was an unbelievable feeling. He had not really wanted to say goodnight to her, but knew that they both needed their sleep. After a shower, he settled down, trying to meditate, clear his mind for sleep. It took longer than usual to relax, get into the proper mind set, Sara creeping more and more into his thoughts. He wondered if he was going through some sort of withdrawal, the way some of the guys in his unit had when they took them off the enhancement drugs. Could you become addicted to a person's presence? He had never felt this way about a woman, about anyone before. He had taken his father's restrictions to heart, finding the complex rituals of dating and mating held no true interest for him before. If anything he had viewed his father's liaisons with detachment for the most part, ignoring them except for the threat potential. If he had any thoughts at all on the subject they ranged from disinterest to distaste. It was simply not a part of his world, something that he only saw through the words of the poets or the vision of painters, an ideal without a feeling. Before Sara had become real to him, become a woman instead of a marble pedestal goddess.
He had shared her apartment for a week, and she had let him, had encouraged him to become closer to her. Nights of talking on the couch with his arms around her, even time just spent watching her do ordinary things, being included in them was an amazing feeling. Not being made feel separate, different. The only other person who had really made him feel that was his father. She had included him in her world and now he had brought her to his. It was different now, before his conditioning had helped him detach, hold his emotions at bay, the ones that he felt. Everything had been held at a distance, everyone, even his father. Now he understood, the emotions, the passion. He felt an ache when he thought about Sara, a longing that only grew stronger as the days passed. Touch, something that was so foreign to him, now was desired, hungered after like a starving man craves food. Everything she did, the feel, the smell of her was intoxicating. He held on, let each little touch, each brush with intimacy plant seeds in him, seeds of hope. His thoughts were getting away from him; instead of relaxing he was becoming aroused. Those feelings had been new as well. At first he wondered if he would react to others, not just Sara. But with his exposure to others he realized that it was not so. He recognized the beauty in some of the women he saw, but it did not cause the same rush of sensation that the mere sound of Sara's voice did. Leaning back a little, he pushed all the thoughts away, clearing his mind as he concentrated on a simple mantra.
Rising, Ian got into his bed, lying back on the pillows, and hoping that the relaxation held long enough for him to sleep. He was praying that he could get through without a return of the dreams that had been haunting his sleep; sweet, intense dreams of Sara, that made him unable to meet her eyes in the morning. Dreams that, in the back of his mind, he wondered if she shared. He had no idea whether they were dreams of the past or just wishful thinking but regardless, they woke him in the early hours of the morning, making it hard to return to sleep without slipping out onto the fire escape, meditating on the cold metal there.
Ian, she missed Ian. Sara had become so used to him being around, in the apartment, in her life, and now he was somewhere in this house, farther away than she had felt from him since he had practically collapsed on her a week ago. He had walked her to the bedroom door, the perfect gentleman, given her a soft kiss and disappeared down the hall before she could say anything. She had wanted to ask him to come in, to stay with her, but she had just been unwilling, unable to do so. Sara wished she knew where he was in this expensive mausoleum. Why did one man need so much house anyway? Just like Irons to have a house big enough to lose a large family in for himself alone.
The answer came to her in a flash and she wondered why she had not seen it before. Why couldn't she just find him, go to him? They were gambling everything on tomorrow, on the fact that people would listen and believe. Why should they be apart tonight? He was probably at least as nervous as she was. Besides, she really did not want another night alone with only the dreams she had been having for company. She reached out and located him. Now all she had to do was make it through the darkened house. Decision made, Sara left her room for the half-light of the hall. After a false start and at least one wrong turn, she made her way down a long corridor that she had not seen earlier. It was lined with what were no doubt priceless pieces of art and antiquities and ended in a double door. She had no doubt whose room that was, had been, and it was not her destination. She found a smaller hallway at the junction leading to a flight of stairs. She took them down to the next floor, realizing that she was getting nearer; she could feel Ian clear and close. Sara went to the first door, took a deep breath and knocked.
Ian had come back to his room after escorting Sara to hers. She was here, in the house, and it was an unbelievable feeling. He had not really wanted to say goodnight to her, but knew that they both needed their sleep. After a shower, he settled down, trying to meditate, clear his mind for sleep. It took longer than usual to relax, get into the proper mind set, Sara creeping more and more into his thoughts. He wondered if he was going through some sort of withdrawal, the way some of the guys in his unit had when they took them off the enhancement drugs. Could you become addicted to a person's presence? He had never felt this way about a woman, about anyone before. He had taken his father's restrictions to heart, finding the complex rituals of dating and mating held no true interest for him before. If anything he had viewed his father's liaisons with detachment for the most part, ignoring them except for the threat potential. If he had any thoughts at all on the subject they ranged from disinterest to distaste. It was simply not a part of his world, something that he only saw through the words of the poets or the vision of painters, an ideal without a feeling. Before Sara had become real to him, become a woman instead of a marble pedestal goddess.
He had shared her apartment for a week, and she had let him, had encouraged him to become closer to her. Nights of talking on the couch with his arms around her, even time just spent watching her do ordinary things, being included in them was an amazing feeling. Not being made feel separate, different. The only other person who had really made him feel that was his father. She had included him in her world and now he had brought her to his. It was different now, before his conditioning had helped him detach, hold his emotions at bay, the ones that he felt. Everything had been held at a distance, everyone, even his father. Now he understood, the emotions, the passion. He felt an ache when he thought about Sara, a longing that only grew stronger as the days passed. Touch, something that was so foreign to him, now was desired, hungered after like a starving man craves food. Everything she did, the feel, the smell of her was intoxicating. He held on, let each little touch, each brush with intimacy plant seeds in him, seeds of hope. His thoughts were getting away from him; instead of relaxing he was becoming aroused. Those feelings had been new as well. At first he wondered if he would react to others, not just Sara. But with his exposure to others he realized that it was not so. He recognized the beauty in some of the women he saw, but it did not cause the same rush of sensation that the mere sound of Sara's voice did. Leaning back a little, he pushed all the thoughts away, clearing his mind as he concentrated on a simple mantra.
Rising, Ian got into his bed, lying back on the pillows, and hoping that the relaxation held long enough for him to sleep. He was praying that he could get through without a return of the dreams that had been haunting his sleep; sweet, intense dreams of Sara, that made him unable to meet her eyes in the morning. Dreams that, in the back of his mind, he wondered if she shared. He had no idea whether they were dreams of the past or just wishful thinking but regardless, they woke him in the early hours of the morning, making it hard to return to sleep without slipping out onto the fire escape, meditating on the cold metal there.