She’d been pleasantly surprised to discover that the living room’s kitchen-side wall was lined with hundreds upon hundreds of books. Most of the volumes in the open cases were well worn and carried Teo’s name inside.
That Teo would be well read didn’t surprise her so much as it added to the puzzle that comprised him. It wasn’t that he didn’t know the rules of society, didn’t understand how the melting pot of American culture worked, it was that he rejected those rules. Many of the books she pulled from the shelves were in-depth sociological studies, others anthropological in nature. Teo had to know the rules very well.
He had simply chosen to ignore them. Or worse, to abandon them.
And what about her? She was the one who had agreed to his heinous bargain. A bargain that seemed to weigh on her with each passing second.
She went back to the kitchen to see if she could find something to make for dinner. She stood inside the darkening room and wondered how to brighten it. All that electricity that leaked from Teo’s hands, she thought a little snipishly, why couldn’t he arrange an electric light or two?
At least he had running water. Behind the kitchen, down a narrow rock passage, she’d discovered another large cavern. It almost shocked her at its sheer hedonism. A large skylight hung high in the rounded rock ceiling, spilling light throughout the cavelike room. A series of shower heads dotted one corner, and as she’d discovered upon using it, the water jetted from nearly every angle possible, as piping hot as she ever could have wanted. Two drains drilled directly into the rock floor apparently carried the water away. Probably, she thought wryly, straight out the side of the mountain in a sporadic waterfall.
But that couldn’t be right, for the room was also equipped with a modern toilet, a sink, and a nearly megalithic-size bathtub that was also formed of rock but lined with some smooth agent. It was large enough to serve as a hot tub or a whirlpool, but without electricity it wouldn’t have any frothy, massaging jets. Not that Teo Sandoval would have any need to rely on anything man-made to make the water churn.
The thought had sobered her. When she’d begun her search for him, she’d had only one thought in mind: Teo Sandoval hated the PRI, he was a telekinetic, he would surely help her keep her son from their clutches. Had she deliberately ignored consideration of the man behind the powers? Was that why she was in such an incredible mess?
But, aside from his unusual terms, was it really such a mess? She and her son were safe from the PRI for the first time in months. Safe from the world.
And alone with Teo in his mountain fortress. She shivered and wished the fortress wasn’t quite so dark now.
As if he could read her thoughts—which she knew he couldn’t for she’d kept her mind firmly clamped all day, even to the extent of being closed to Chris—the kerosene lanterns flickered, then the wicks caught and brightened, chasing shadows to the corners. And making her all too aware that he was thinking of her.
“How did it go today?” she asked the empty kitchen, needing to practice what she might say to him upon his return. “That won’t work,” she answered herself. The question sounded too casual, too familiar. It had the ring of the long-married couple who ask such questions more out of ritual than any real desire to know.
“Did you have any success?” she tried. But that, too, seemed inappropriate. She wasn’t even sure what “success” would mean in relation to his working with Chris. This was something she would have to ask him. Tonight.
She shivered anew, hating the way her thoughts always came back to that worrisome time.
From a large, wooden, insulated cupboard, she pulled another waxed paper-wrapped packet, and opened it carefully. It was thick chunks of beef. A cautious sniff proved the meat fresh and she set about trying to put together a meal. Largely by means of scent and wary tasting, she made her way through the unmarked herb containers and marinated the thick strips of beef with sweet basil, a hint of mountain thyme and a pinch or two of what might pass for oregano. She dunked the beef in a pungent red wine she found among a collection of wines in a rack on the far side of the kitchen, then dredged the strips in the crushed herbs. The kitchen was redolent with spicy odors.
Luckily the ancient stove was simply a wood-burning affair and she found wood generously stacked outside the glass doors, as well as matches for it—and the lanterns, she thought grimly—in a small wall-mounted container beside it. She took a book of the matches and marched into the living room and set them beside one of the lanterns on an end table there. She wasn’t going to have him light the lanterns for her tomorrow evening. She shivered at the implication of yet another day spent in his company, the concept of thinking beyond the night looming ahead.
Slowly she returned to the kitchen, determined to find anything to take her mind from the thought of his large, down-filled bed.
It didn’t take long before the iron surface of the stove was hot enough to work with.
She had the meat sautéing in the largest frying pan she’d ever seen when a commotion at the door made her whirl in exaggerated fright. She’d been listening for their approach, straining to hear any sign of their return. And now that she’d finally heard it, her heart had leapt to her throat, and her breath came in shallow, dry gasps.
He was back. And this was tonight.
For a moment all she could see through the glass doors leading to the deck was her own reflection, then through it, she met the pale blue eyes of the man she’d thought of every moment of the long, long day.
She felt rooted to the stone floor and didn’t so much as shift an inch as he pushed the doors open and stepped through. His eyes were so piercing, so challenging, that she almost didn’t notice her son riding easily against his broad shoulder.
“Mommy!” Chris cried with glee, and Melanie smiled in relief, in automatic joy.
“You’re cooking,” Teo said. His tone implied this was the last thing he’d ever expected her to do.
“We have to eat,” she replied coolly. She’d rehearsed about thirty different things to say to him, but none fit this particular twist in conversation.
“Why?”
“Why do we have to eat?” she asked blankly.
“Why are you cooking? You don’t need to. You don’t have to cook or clean for me. That wasn’t in the agreement,” he said, frowning.
His words underscored what was in the bargain, even though he didn’t spell it out.
“I thought Chris would be hungry,” she said. “You’ve been gone all day.” It was as close to an accusation as possible.
But Teo only looked from the pan of fragrant meat to the one containing the steaming rice. The frown on his forehead deepened. He looked genuinely perplexed. Finally he shifted Chris from one arm to the other and gave her an oblique look as he crossed the kitchen in two strides and exited down the narrow corridor to the unusual bathroom. As usual, the door opened then closed without his touching it.
She turned back to her ministrations, feeling something between pique and confusion. Her heart still beat too rapidly, her hand shook slightly. When she reached, a few minutes later, for a hand-woven pot holder she’d found earlier, she found it wasn’t alone on the island bar. Her heart seemed to stop beating for a full twenty seconds.
Somehow, without her having heard a sound, without seeing anything, the table had been set. Three plates, sets of silverware, even glasses, rested on the now covered bar. Two wineglasses had been placed beside two of the settings and were already filled with a deep burgundy-colored wine.
She heard her own sharp intake of air, and slow exhalation. She tried telling herself that she should regard it as amusing, even helpful. But it wasn’t intended that way, she thought. It was another of his demonstrations, another reminder that he was different, that he was frightening.
Turning away from the table, she squared her shoulders, vowing she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d startled her yet again, made her feel that brush with the preternatural universe.
The
heat from the kitchen made her feel slightly dizzy, flushed. But when Teo stepped through the thick door, followed by his tiny and beaming shadow, Melanie knew the warmth in her cheeks had nothing to do with the fire in the wood stove, only with the man standing a few feet away from her, eyeing her with wary challenge.
He glanced at the neatly arranged place settings and back to her. A measure of mockery rested on his chiseled features. But she didn’t necessarily have the feeling that mockery was turned on her.
Could she have wronged him? Could the demonstration of setting the table not have been an attempt to frighten her once again, but some need for her to accept his unusual gifts? With some chagrin, she suspected she’d come to the correct conclusion this time. This is me, he seemed to be saying defiantly. This is what I am. Take it or leave it.
She wished she dared lower her guarded mind to him to see if she was right. But she couldn’t, he would see too much, would understand her extreme vulnerability, her unwary attraction to him. No, she thought, especially given the terms of their bargain, she couldn’t open herself to his searing thoughts.
She turned back to the meal and carefully dished it onto a platter she’d found behind one of the cupboards. She tried quelling the riot of feelings he inspired in her, tried clinging to the realization that Teo might not want to frighten her but might be merely telling her in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t ashamed of his talents. Wasn’t that what she wanted for Chris?
As she set the platter on the table and lifted Chris to a bar stool, telling him to be very careful, she tried thinking of Teo in terms of the boy the PRI had—for all intents and purposes—purchased from his father. She tried seeing the damage they had inflicted on his vulnerable psyche. She tried pitying him.
But when she looked up at his hard face, his challenging eyes, she found that pity was the last emotion she could summon. Pity seemed as out of place for Teo as an ice cube in a fire storm. He would disdain anything so pathetic.
She knew the meal was delicious. She had tasted it during the preparation. The meat was tender, delicately spiced and the wine brought out a flavor both unique and rich. But now, sitting catercorner to Teo, her sleepy son separating them by only inches, the beef tasted like cardboard and the rice like so much sawdust.
They ate the meal in tense silence and the lack of conversation seemed to hammer at her ears. Every time her fork scraped against the ceramic plate, she found herself willing it to be quiet. Each time Teo’s hand reached for his water or his wineglass, she would tense, as if expecting him to reach for her instead.
When the tortuous meal was finally finished, Melanie was inordinatly relieved that Chris was nearly dropping from the stool in exhaustion. At least she would have something to do, a job that would take her away from Teo’s burning gaze. For the first time, dressing the limp, drooping body in his pajamas and kissing him before settling him in the soft cradle, Melanie actually wished Chris were an obstreperous baby. If he were fighting bedtime, challenging sleep, she might have an excuse to linger in this secure room. Linger and linger until the night faded into morning.
“He’s asleep,” Teo said from the doorway.
Instead of making her jump, this time his voice only served to drive home the wrongness of his terms, the wrong she’d done in accepting them.
“Come,” he said, and when she didn’t move toward him, he held out his hand.
“The dishes,” she said softly.
“There’s no need,” he said. And while she knew that was the perfect truth, she felt such a desire to perform such a mundane task that her guard must have slipped a notch. An odd expression crossed his face, even as his gaze sharpened. He said finally, “But I haven’t cleaned them yet.”
She felt relief infuse her veins, allowing her to walk toward him, brush past him to leave Chris’s small niche. He didn’t try to touch her as she stepped by him. He didn’t need to. She was already all too conscious of his scent, of the heat radiating from him.
He followed her to the kitchen and stood beside her as she ran warm water into his sink. He handed her a container of powdered soap granules that he must have acquired in a previous decade. Of course, she thought dully, he wouldn’t need anything so simple as soap. He could just wish his dishes clean.
She used it sparingly and the suds rose swiftly. She stared at them almost mesmerized, needing to look at anything other than the man beside her. But she was too aware of the fact that he leaned against the wooden countertop, his arms crossed, his expression inscrutable.
He said nothing as she slid the plates into the soapy water. And still not speaking, but making her tense when he moved, he gave a single wave at the dishes in the rinse water. One by one they rose from the water, hung in the air, rotated once and slowly floated to land, soundlessly, dry, atop the short stack of plates.
Melanie found herself holding her breath, trying not to goggle at the display of his abilities. He was doing that on purpose, she thought. Just as he’d done the other things, setting the table, raising or dimming lights, opening and closing doors without needing to touch them.
Except for his theatrics, Melanie was struck by the sheer banality of their working together. It was too casual, too normal. Eating together, cleaning up afterward, putting a baby to sleep. It seemed to address an intimacy that didn’t—couldn’t—exist between them.
“Why does Chris project an image of you crying when he sends the picture of a dead plant?” Teo asked abruptly, cutting the silence that roared between them.
Melanie was inordinantly relieved that when he spoke, it was about Chris, not about the night looming ahead. “A dead plant?” she asked.
“In a white room,” he said.
“At PRI,” she said, comprehending the image suddenly. She felt the horror and anger she’d felt then suffusing her now. “They made him kill the plant. They tricked him into it.”
Teo didn’t say anything for a moment, only studied her as if seeing something he didn’t particularly like.
“What?” she asked.
“Why did you let them do that to him?” he asked. “How could you let them twist his mind?”
“I didn’t,” she said hotly. She turned to face him, all fear of him momentarily forgotten in her anger that he would believe her capable of allowing such a thing to happen to her son. “Tom arranged the visits, all but sold Chris to them.”
“Who’s Tom?”
“My ex-husband,” she said coldly. “Chris’s father.”
“I see. He sold Chris to the PRI?”
“Yes,” she said, then added, “Like your father did you.” She wished she could snatch the words back at the black thunder that swept across Teo’s face.
After a few incredibly charged moments, Teo said, “But you have the boy now.”
“Yes,” she said. She couldn’t help raising her chin as if daring him to question that, also. “I couldn’t let them get away with their hideous games.”
“Hideous games,” Teo echoed. “That’s what they are.”
“That’s why I brought him to you,” she said.
“Because I would know how to train Chris…teach him all the magic they wanted to teach him, but without the madness?” he asked bitterly.
She didn’t answer. What he’d said was true, but the tone made it a lie, made it seem stupid, questionable.
“What is it that you want Chris to learn?” he asked then.
She’d had most of the day to consider this question, to try to formulate some answer in her mind. “To be strong enough not to be susceptible to those such as the scientists at the PRI,” she said, though the words came anything but easily.
“Why didn’t you just have him do what I did?” Teo asked.
“Tear the place apart?” she countered swiftly.
Teo shrugged.
Melanie answered truthfully, “Because he didn’t know how, and because I couldn’t show him.”
“And that’s what you want me to teach him?”
“No!” sh
e snapped, then at the flare in his silver eyes, retreated into a quieter tone. “No. But once they’d taught him that total concentration technique…I couldn’t get through to him any longer. He wasn’t safe from them. They could do anything to him then.”
She could tell that something along those lines had already occurred to him, that she wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know.
“What did you mean when you said you couldn’t get through to him any longer? Are you telepathic?” he asked.
Melanie hesitated. And finally, lied. “Just a bit,” she said. “Like any mother is for her child.”
She tried not to flinch away from him as he raised a hand to her temple. But she didn’t succeed and his hand stopped just shy of touching her. He lowered it slowly to his side, staring at her all the while.
“How do you close your mind?” he asked her finally.
She had to look away from him. She only shook her head in answer.
After what seemed hours, he said slowly, consideringly, “In the forest today, Chris ‘danced’ a pinecone. I broke through his block.” Incredibly, Teo chuckled. This time his laughter held no trace of the mockery that had suffused it the night before, no undercurrent other than simple amusement. “He shouted at me in that mental voice.”
Melanie couldn’t help but turn back to face him, couldn’t help but smile. One day in Teo Sandoval’s company, and Chris had already done more for him than he had for the scientists at the PRI in two months, and for her in a lifetime of coping. She’d done right in bringing her son here. She longed to tell him so, to just openly acknowledge her gratitude.
But even as her lips curved into a smile, as her eyes met his, his face seemed to change, to close, as if he’d said too much, confessed too much. He took a step closer to her. Menacingly. “I’ve fulfilled my part of the bargain today,” he said, his meaning painfully clear.
Sharing the Darkness Page 11
