Barbara's Redemption

by Diane Saxon

  He studied her as though he didn’t quite believe her. Maybe he was surprised she read at all and didn’t spend her spare time killing sweet, innocent kids. A little knot of anger tightened in her stomach. He might have her personal file, but what the hell would he know?

  He narrowed his eyes so they crinkled at the edges and stroked his thumb over his lower lip while he contemplated her. “It wasn’t a test, Barbara. I was just making conversation, but if you don’t want to be honest with me, then that’s your prerogative.”

  Offended, she straightened her shoulders. “I didn’t lie.”

  “You didn’t tell the truth, but I see no reason why you wouldn’t. It makes no difference to me if you read fairy tales or biographies, I was curious.” His sexy mouth tightened for a moment while he gained control of himself and managed to inveigle some small worm of guilt in her. “We don’t have any books here except my professional manuals.” He quirked a brow at her, but the small disappointment had her giving a careless shrug. “We have nothing that would interest you.”

  A little ashamed at the defensiveness that had become too natural lately, Barbara slipped from the chair and scuffed her feet as she waited to be dismissed. If her mother could see her now, she’d probably give her a good, hard shake. She was acting like a spoiled brat.

  It hadn’t been an outright lie. She’d read many thrillers. Just recently though, she seemed to have lost her taste for them. She’d seen too much blood, experienced more than her fair share of suspense without having to read about it. Reality had been far harder to deal with, and picking up a book didn’t stir her imagination, it completely wrenched her memories from her, throwing them front and center to give her another chance to dwell on them.

  She chewed her lip, and then took a chance and peered up at him. He blew out a breath.

  “We could try this.” He turned to his console and tapped on the keys.

  “I thought you said we were done.”

  “We are. I’m not going to link you up, but I have an idea.”

  His nimble fingers flew across the keys. When he was finished, he turned to her and offered her the helmet. She hesitated, but he nudged it to her.

  “You said you wanted to read. This is the only way I could think to accommodate you.”

  “No, I don’t want…”

  He was already shaking his head. “It’s not a test, Barbara. It’s in relaxation mode.”

  She rolled her lips inward to stop the comment blurting out about the relaxation mode he’d used the night before. It was possibly best to keep quiet about that little incident for the time being. From his deadpan look, he already knew what she was thinking.

  “You want to try it or not?”

  She accepted the helmet and sucked in a gentle breath as his fingers brushed against hers while he handed it over. She slipped back onto the Dreampsych Transcender, wondering what the hell to expect.

  The screen flickered to life, and there was Dominic in full Technicolor indicating for her to follow him. She let the screen freeze while she took a moment to admire his ass. Nice ass. Perhaps she should just leave it on pause and drift off to sleep with the vision of Dominic’s perfect ass in her head.

  Warm fingers gave a gentle squeeze to her arm and almost had her shooting off the chair as guilt washed over her. The screen automatically disengaged as Dominic lifted the visor and stared in at her.

  “Is anything wrong?”

  “No.” Her answer blurted out too quickly. She held her breath. He narrowed his eyes. The heat from his fingers penetrated her skin, and the desire she already felt for the man bubbled beneath the surface. It wouldn’t take much to tempt her. The brief brush of his thumb against the inside of her wrist turned her thighs to liquid and made her grateful she was already lying down.

  “I’m going to leave you now.”

  Probably best he did.

  “Would you leave Brynn with me?” She dropped her hand down, finding comfort in the dog’s presence.

  With a small smile, Dominic gave a brief nod.

  “When you’re finished, take the visor off, and I’ll come power down the machine.”

  She couldn’t reply. She’d far rather he powered it up, especially if it had the same effect on her as it had with him when he’d used it.

  She cruised her gaze over the sexy professor. She’d rather have the reality.

  A blank screen filled her vision as he snapped the visor back in place. Cool air brushed her skin where his fingers had been.

  The scene came back to life, with Dominic several paces ahead, just slipping through the door.

  Like Alice in Wonderland, Barbara realized she was supposed to follow the white rabbit down the hole.

  Surprised when Dominic took a turn past the kitchen and down the wide wooden hallway toward his study, she realized he’d invited her through a doorway to the left of the study, which didn’t exist in reality.

  She trustingly stepped past him when he swung open the door. Just a few days ago, she wouldn’t have dreamed of making a move like that without pulling out a gun and going in low. Perhaps she shouldn’t let her guard down too much, but it was her dreamscape after all. She was safe here, if only for a while. Provided Dominic was true to his word and it didn’t turn out to be a test.

  “Oh. My. Dear. Lord.”

  Dominic’s snort of laughter didn’t deter her from gazing around the compact room in utter awe. She stepped through the open doorway. If he’d slammed and locked it, she wouldn’t have protested. He’d have had a willing prisoner if only he’d used the room in the first place to entice her to trust him. She had no idea where he’d conjured up the images, but there was no doubt in her mind there was an authenticity to them that could only have come from reality.

  Ceiling to floor, every inch of space was taken up by books. She tracked her gaze around the room, let it wander along the back wall where there was every kind of reference book, encyclopedias—she stepped forward to take a closer look—almanacs, atlases, and biographies. Perfect leather bindings on beautifully kept manuals, arranged in genre across the glossy wooden shelves.

  Barbara hunkered down, stroked her fingers along the spines of the books, and trailed her gaze across the titles. As she came upright again, she continued to study the books with a gentle touch here, a reverent caress there, until she could no longer resist pulling a thick volume from the shelf above her head. Fascinated, she lowered herself into the huge armchair strategically placed for just such an occasion.

  Memories flooded thick and fast, of youth and innocence, of a happy carefree life, before shit happened and she became a grown up well before she was supposed to.

  Only vaguely aware of Dominic’s quiet departure as he dissolved into the background, Barbara shifted in the overstuffed chair and opened the volume.

  The pungent odor of ink from the thick, glossy pages evoked memories long forgotten.

  The book had been in her mother’s modest collection. One they had poured over for hours, the lack of T.V. never an obstacle to education in her mother’s mind. Not until her father died. Barbara and her brother had touched the pictures and smoothed their young fingertips across the book, leaving the pages dog-eared and worn. Strange he would know what her choice would be. Perhaps it was somewhere in the thick volume of her notes. No matter, she was there and so was the book.

  With gentle reverence, she turned page after page, oblivious of time passing, recognizing the images of gods and demi-gods she’d fawned over in her youth. She remembered each mythical character’s story as though her mother had recently read them to her, made them come to life in her young girl’s mind like it was yesterday instead of when she was nine. The days when her father had still been alive and her mother’s eyes had sparkled with life and hope.

  The pictures blurred as she blinked the mist of long-forgotten memories from her eyes, and she reached down and smoothed her hand over Brynn’s silky head.

  “I have this book at home. Daddy reads it with me all the t
ime. It’s one of my favorites.”

  Barbara whipped her head up, the tears miraculously clearing as she stared at the child dead center of the doorway smoothing her long black hair from her cheeks. For a brief flicker of time, she wasn’t quite sure how the sweet little girl had managed to circumnavigate the security systems, but then she remembered she was in Dominic’s world. Dominic had put her there.

  Damn him. He said there would be no test. She was to just relax. Relax. He was setting her up again. He probably wanted her to shoot the kid so he could have her committed and get rid of her. After all, she’d blatantly started to get under his skin.

  Tempted to rip the probes from her body, Barbara sat up, but the soft pull of the comfortable chair persuaded her to relax. The downy pillow she clutched to her stomach reminded her of home, and she realized just how far she had slipped under the influence of the Dreampsych Transcender. If he thought he could catch her out that way, he was mistaken.

  She raised the visor on her helmet and peered around the blank, empty room.

  True to his word, he’d gone. Only the dog remained by her side. She scratched Brynn’s ear before she pulled the visor down a touch and peeped at the scene. The girl was still standing as though waiting to be invited in.

  Barbara shifted in her seat, pulled the visor the rest of the way, and fell back into the dream.

  “Hey kid, what’s your name?”

  “Marie.”

  Marie took Barbara’s words as an invitation to come in and disrupt her peaceful interlude.

  Adorable dimples appeared, and the child’s big brown eyes filled Barbara’s vision as she came in close to study her with innocent curiosity.

  “Hi. My daddy doesn’t know I’m here.”

  With a sudden jolt, Barbara realized from the soft lilt of Irish, the child was Dominic’s. Whether she was real or imagined, he’d put her there in the Dreampsych Transcender by accident or design.

  Barbara felt her lips quirk up at the edges and tried to quash the smile before it ruined her hard-ass image. She gave a little cough.

  With the guilelessness of the young, Marie shuffled herself onto the chair, wriggling until the spare two inches of space miraculously became wide enough to fit her little butt into, leaving Barbara squished up against the chair arm on the other side. The child’s presence certainly felt real enough. “Which goddess are you reading about?”

  Barbara tapped her finger against the picture in the book. “Maat.”

  The child leaned closer, forcing Barbara to lift her arm so Marie could snuggle in. “She’s one of my favorites. Daddy says I look like her.” She smoothed her delicate little hand with perfect nails along the length of her hair. The black gloss of it shimmered with touches of blue density in the lamplight and tempted Barbara to stroke Marie’s hair herself. Fascinated, she allowed the thick silken strands to cascade over her fingertips, confused by the unfamiliar affection warming her chest. Convinced it may purely be the memories the book had invoked, Barbara wriggled to get more comfortable.

  “You do. You just need the feathered wings and you’re all set.”

  With a giggle, Marie scrunched in closer, almost depriving Barbara of all breath as she squeezed tight, tilting her head to get a better look at the page and obscuring Barbara’s view of it. She didn’t need to see it to know what was written there. It was ingrained in her memory.

  “She stands for truth and justice and stops the world from falling into chaos.” With another soft swipe of her hand over Marie’s head, she smiled as it conjured up memories of her own mother. “Are you truthful?”

  The little girl nodded, leaned her elbow on the book, and cupped her chin in her hand. Her cuteness stirred more than just old memories. It tightened Barbara’s chest with almost painful awareness, pulling at her heartstrings until she could barely speak.

  “I always tell the truth, but what’s chaos?”

  Chaos was Barbara’s world, but she could hardly tell Marie, even in an imaginary world as they wallowed in an oasis of calm, soothed by fiction and each other’s company. “It’s when everything goes a little mad and you can’t control things.”

  “Like when Brynn races through the kitchen covered in mud and Daddy can’t catch him.” Marie leaned back and turned her impish face to squint at Barbara. “And he says…” she deepened both the depth and the Irish intonation of her voice in a sly imitation of her father, “bloody hell Brynn, could you not stand still for just a moment so I can slay you before you destroy the kitchen?” She hitched her butt up on to Barbara’s lap while she squirmed around to face her. “And then he whispers…” she scooted up so her mouth pressed against Barbara’s ear and her breath shushed against her skin, “…bollocksss.” Barbara scrunched her neck up to stop the unexpected tickle, automatically giving Marie a tight squeeze as they both giggled.

  Giggled. She hadn’t giggled since she was a blushing teenager. But it felt right, and it felt good to have the little one snuggled in tight, a small comfort in the never ending manic whirl of a life as she contemplated the cool, calm Dominic racing around the kitchen after a muddy dog. He also had the audacity to swear in front of his own child, when he’d made it clear he wasn’t impressed with Barbara’s language. Perhaps that was purely Barbara’s part of the dream, wishing for him to lose control and swear.

  “Daddy’s funny.” Marie pointed, pulling Barbara’s attention back to the book. “He reads me the words and makes the stories up. I know he does because sometimes what he says is different from the last time, but I don’t mind. He makes me laugh too.”

  Barbara’s dad had done the same when he was alive.

  Marie’s engaging stare met Barbara’s “Does your daddy read to you?”

  Barbara felt the side of her mouth kick up in an ironic smile. “No, I don’t have a daddy any longer.”

  “Oh, it’s okay. Don’t be sad.” The sympathetic pat on her arm tempted her to laugh, but Marie’s next words halted the sound in her throat. “My mummy died before I was born.”

  It was a test. It had to be. There was no way Dominic would reveal something so personal to her through the Dreampsych Transcender unless he meant to. She recalled his first sexual encounter story, but it never contained the intimacy this scenario did.

  She should just let the matter go, and the program would probably move on, but curiosity won out in the end. “If your mummy died before you were born, how come you were born?”

  “They took me out of her tummy in the hospital.”

  Jesus Christ. Her stomach lurched, and where ordinarily she would have leaped from her seat and paced the room, the light weight of the child on her lap kept her anchored, while her heart flipped over in her chest in confusion and sympathy. “Who told you?” Why would anyone tell a child that? There was no logic to it.

  “Daddy did. He said mummy was in a car crash, and her body looked after me until I could be born.”

  A raging heat flew through from her toes to her hairline, making her want to dab away any signs of sweat. The poor little girl. Motherless.

  “It’s okay, Barbie.” Barbara quirked her eyebrow at the misuse of her name but let it slip. That had to have been programmed in by Dominic. Under the circumstances, perhaps she’d allow the child a little leeway and not whip her gun out like Dominic possibly expected. “Daddy says you can’t miss what you never had, and he thinks I’m very well adjusted because he was truthful. He says sometimes if you find these things out when you’re older, it comes as too much of a shock.”

  Astounded by the child’s maturity, whatever Barbara could have said stuck in her throat while she studied Marie’s beautiful face. If her father’s voice started to come from her mouth, she’d know it was a trick. It may well be yet. Well-adjusted appeared to be the right term. Dominic seemed to have handled the situation with remarkable delicacy, and it appeared his daughter had acquired his high capacity of intelligence. Still, she had no mother. Had never had one.

  Too real for comfort, Barbara turned her f
ace away and stared at the book-filled shelves on the other side of the room while she persuaded her brain to stop thinking about the other motherless children she’d been left with no option but to deal with it. Her heart had bled for those two little girls. It still did.

  “Barbara?”

  She sucked in a breath and turned her attention back to Marie. “Yep?”

  “Can we look at Artemis now? I like her, she’s strong and tough.”

  “Sure we can.” Strong and tough was the order of the day. Perhaps that had been Dominic’s intention when he set the dream sequence in motion. Maybe he wanted to take her to a place where her own thoughts and memories could start to heal her, and the little girl was just a fantasy, not really his daughter but an evocative vision designed to prod at her own memories. Some of which she was not yet ready to confront.

  Barbara pushed aside any further thought of death and forced herself to concentrate on the subject at hand.

  Artemis. Goddess of the hunt, an independent spirit. One Barbara had hoped to aspire to. Instead she was on the run, unable to face her demons.

  As they settled down, Barbara flipped over a page. “What other gods and goddesses do you know?”

  “I know all of them.”

  “So, who else do you like?”

  “I love them all.” Tempted to do an eye roll, Barbara held still to give Marie the chance to think things through. The little girl raised her hand and pushed her hair back from her forehead in an imitation so like her father that Barbara took a swift gulp. “One of my other favorites, though, is…” she tapped her little finger against her chubby cheek, opened her cute little mouth, gave a dramatic gasp, and then started flicking the pages back until she slapped her hand on a page. “Andraste, the white goddess. This could be you, except your hair isn’t long. It’s very short.” To demonstrate, Marie ran her fingers through Barbara’s blunt hair. “But it’s white, like hers. Only…” She leaned back and squirmed her bony knee into Barbara’s thigh. “She’s the warrior goddess, and you’re an angel.”