Flashback

by Amanda Carpenter

  Chapter Six

  She flinched away at the thought of him dead, of that instant and vivid image of him broken and bleeding at the foot of the cliff, more so than she did at the thought of her own. “No,” she gasped out raggedly, the physical strain on her body making her go limp, her own voice a mere thread of sound. “No, don’t! I’ll come. Please, I’ll come.”

  A moment, as David panted and gathered up his strength, and then he started to pull again, and it was so excruciatingly painful for her as she felt muscles scream and threaten to tear, the rock catching at her bare arm and scraping it until it bled. David’s harsh breathing and straining effort; and then she was grasping the top with her free hand; and then she was lying at the edge of the cliff, her hips and legs dangling; and then she was dragged totally back on to level ground.

  Dana was suddenly crying as she fought for air, panting and gasping and shaking, the sobs uneven and a bare shudder of pitiful sound. David’s hands shifted from under her arms to clasp her convulsively close, and she crept her own arms up and around his strong, sweating neck. She trembled and shook, and sobbed into his chest, and his arms held her tight as he trembled and shook. His face was in her hair, his hands moving across her back spasmodically, his strong frame shuddering over and over. Dana didn’t know who was comforting whom. All she knew was that he was warm and real and immediate and caring, she felt that caring, and he knew how she’d felt and sympathised.

  Her eyes were closed and her sobbing was dry, and she nuzzled him urgently in his neck, trying to hide her face in him and lose herself in him, and she felt his face moving in her hair and knew he was drowning his own sensations in her life, so imperiled a moment before and so safe now. Their entire heated bodies were intertwined and tangled as they sprawled on the hard ground, his legs hard and heavy against hers, his torso large and flat against her own chest, his hands thrust into the luxury of her long, thick, wind blown hair. His warm neck. She tasted his salt. Then her head was dragged back and his lips were brought to hers, shaking, fierce, clamping on her. He was drinking from her and slaking his fear and his thirst and his pent-up emotion, and she was kissing him back. Yet it wasn’t quite what she would have called kissing, in her own vague and romantic daydreams. Instead it was a biting, urgent, hurting, bruising reassurance of the other’s life and living and safety and need.

  Dana felt the sun pound down on her head, warming her exposed, bleeding arms and neck and the curve of her cheek as it was turned up. She felt the warmth of David’s body as her skin melded to his, her arms thrown around him and holding him close, his own arms shuddering, crushing her, his weight half on her, half off. She could smell the pine and the grass and the summer aroma, mingled with David’s own masculine scent. She heard his harsh, ragged breathing and someone else’s—shocked to realise it was her own. A rock dug into her hip. Yellow light blinded her and she couldn’t see. The inside of his mouth was wet.

  That was when the tears came, as he cradled her, and she let the drops fall hopelessly. Her own irreparably flawed person, the sweet breeze that delicately touched her heated skin, the man in front of her, now so gentle and caring, and that black, reeking pit she’d fallen into. It was worse than a prison. She was surrounded by the smells and sounds of freedom and sanity and goodness and healthiness, so that the knowledge of her own dark abnormality was more cruel than anything she’d ever imagined.

  “Why didn’t you let me die?” she whispered. Her eyes were closed now, her face hidden in him, and he held her head with one hand, the other arm wrapped so tightly around, she didn’t think she could breathe, let alone move. His lips were moving over her forehead and temple, at the hairline, still reassuring himself of her living, hurting awareness.

  “No. Oh, no.” It was spoken from the back of his throat, hoarsely.

  “The gun,” she said, still shaking. “The gun.” His hands passed over her, pressed her hard to him.

  “Dana, everything is all right, I swear it. You’re okay. You’re going to be fine, just fine. I’m so sorry. I am so terribly sorry—” The muttered words barely reached her consciousness. She realised how tightly she’d been holding him to her, and loosened her grip slightly. She didn’t think she could stand just yet.

  She had to ask and didn’t want to hear the answer, and whispered, mouth trembling, “Did I hurt anyone?” The dull question had his head snapping up and he stared down at her, eyes widened, his head dark against that beautiful blue and white and yellow sky.

  “You don’t remember, then?” he asked her incredulously. “You really don’t recall any of it?”

  Her face broke up. “No! No, none of it. All I remember is standing against the wall behind the grocery store and seeing Mick come for me with his hands out as if he was going to grab at my neck. Then—then everything blanked out.” Her eyes, full of her fear and distress, pleaded mutely, as she asked stiffly, “What happened to me, David? Where did I go?”

  She could see that he was at a loss, and he appeared to search for words. Then he abruptly pulled her into a sitting position, his arms still wound around her, hard muscle digging into her back. He sighed. “I think you have a lot to forgive me for, Dana. I think—” and his arms involuntarily tightened until she thought she would cry out from the pressure, “—I think that you somehow got tangled up in something that…came from me.” He paused, mouth open, trying to formulate words that just wouldn’t come.

  She said, sensing his discomfort, “Like the nightmares.”

  His head jerked. “Like the nightmares.” His eyes narrowed on her, unsurprised. “So you are aware of where they’re coming from, then. I might have known. I had hoped—Lord, you’re just something I’d never expected. I had thought that with a little more time, a little more discipline, I’d be able to control them, but it hasn’t worked well, has it?”

  “David, do you have a scar on your stomach?” She leaned back against his arms comfortably, feeling the turbulent upheaval inside her subside.

  He winced. “You caught that nightmare, then, did you? How sensitive are you to them?”

  Her eyes fell and she looked at the top button of his shirt, undone against the brown tanned skin. “Just about as sensitive as I could get, I should think. Sometimes I have to check my stomach to make sure there isn’t a scar there. It’s—very disconcerting.”

  “And have you been awakened by them?” He looked stunned and she couldn’t blame him. Even when one intellectually accepted the face of psychic phenomena, it was an emotional jolt to be confronted with it.

  “And haven’t slept for the rest of the night, yes.” Her lips quivered into a smile that looked so wavering that he had to muffle a curse. Her eyes slid up quickly and this time there really was a slight smile in their depths. “Cursing doesn’t help much. It just sounds foul and doesn’t change the situation.”

  “Dana!” Looking considerably startled, his mouth thinned into a white line. “You see too damned much for your own good. Are you able to read me this accurately all of the time, then?”

  “No. It comes and goes. Sometimes your thoughts are very expressive. They leap at me, no matter how I try not to read them. Then I feel I’ve invaded your privacy, and—and—” Pale, she dropped her eyes and said dully, “David, I really don’t want this any more than you. I’m sorry. If I could turn it off, I would.”

  “Shh. It’s okay. I promise you, it will be all right.” This, she thought, even though she’d kept all of her distress and emotion out of her voice. He could read things too, after a fashion. His hand came up to stroke her hair. “Would you like to know what happened earlier?”

  She was unprepared for how her whole body trembled at his words. “Oh, please. Yes, please.”

  “When you ran from behind the store, you were…I think you were in a waking nightmare. I don’t know how else to put it. You were caught in a memory of mine that you thought was real.”

  He would have slowly and uncomfortably continued, but she halted him. “Wait, what do you mean when I
ran from behind the store? How did you know I was there? Were you there? I don’t remember that.”

  “I came to the back.” He fell silent, his eyes guarded and waiting. She sensed bewilderment. It was in tune with what she was feeling.

  “Why did you do that? I know we didn’t make enough noise for anyone to hear it from the front. I don’t think anyone saw me go to the back. Why did you go to the back?” For some reason, she tensed as she waited for his answer.

  “I don’t know,” he said flatly. Then, as she continued to stare at him, more sharply, “I don’t know! I just knew that you were back there and that something was wrong.”

  His arm fell away and he withdrew from her physically, but she barely noticed, not needing physical contact to have the sense of closeness, like many other people did. She wet dry lips. “Why,” she asked slowly, needing to know badly, “did you walk in to town today?”

  His mouth thinned again into an ugly white line, tension making the two lines from nostrils to mouth more pronounced, the furrow between his brows deep. His eyes darkened, his brown hair blown all out of tidiness, and his stern, tense look made him appear suddenly very dangerous. But Dana didn’t see that in him; she saw more with her mind and sensed his anger stemming from bewilderment and confusion.

  “I was looking for you,” he said shortly, setting his teeth together with a snap. Dana didn’t heed the warning, clenching her hands into fists.

  “But why to town? Why not stop at the house, or did you?” she persisted. “But no, you must have arrived on the scene too soon to have stopped at the house. Why to town? How did you know I was there?”

  “It was a guess.” His powerful shoulders hunched.

  “Don’t lie to me, David. Of all people, not me.”

  “I couldn’t know!” he ground out. “I just needed to walk off some tension—”

  “You knew.”

  “I thought I’d look out for you. I thought we could have that talk—”

  “You felt something building in yourself. You were afraid.”

  “I was afraid of nothing!”

  “You sensed me.” It was uttered with complete certainty.

  “How in God’s name could I?” he thundered, and this time she felt the danger in him palpably, and she wasn’t sure if the wave of fear came from herself or from him.

  “Don’t!” she screamed, clenching her hands at her temples. Moaning at the onslaught of anger and bafflement he exuded, she started to pound her fists at her temples, concentrating on the physical pain instead of the emotional.

  “Stop that!” He grabbed her hands and forced them down, away from her. He glared down at her bent head. “Why are you so intent on hurting yourself?”

  “I hate it!” she threw at him. “I hate myself, I hate this, I hate you! Get out of my head! Don’t you know what you’re doing to me? Can’t you feel it? Will you stop lying to yourself?”

  A moment of silence. Birds crying out, diving overhead, sun shining benignly, breeze rustling. He stared at her, eyes wide. “I sensed you,” he whispered, the admission coming from dry lips. “I don’t know how, but I sensed you.”

  She closed her eyes, trembling in the way she knew he’d never let himself. “And I’m as big a liar as any of them. I don’t hate you. I don’t—don’t want to die. I—I—” She couldn’t finish. A tear dripped down her cheek.

  “Dana.” It was gentle; he was so very gentle. “You know I’m afraid, too.”

  And she was back in his arms, clinging. They stayed like that for a long, long time.

  Back at the house, David opened up the back door quietly and let Dana precede inside. They found Dana’s mother sitting straight and pale at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of her. Her head snapped up and relief came into her eyes as she stood to wordlessly clasp Dana close to her. Dana briefly put her head on her mother’s shoulder, slumping against her for a moment and feeling nothing but a vast relief to be back within the setting of normality.

  Then her mother stepped back and surveyed both of their faces, noting strain. “Is everything all right, then?” she asked quietly, eyes lingering on David’s dark visage.

  He smiled slightly at her, the lines at his mouth more pronounced. “We have a lot to talk about, Mrs. Haslow.” She nodded without surprise, her glance flickering back to Dana, who sat down heavily. “And both Dana and I think that we should get something settled right here and now.” At the question in her eyes, he again smiled and produced the black revolver for her perusal.

  “Oh, thank God!” She took it gingerly, and then said feelingly, “I’ve always felt nervous about having this around, but then Jerry insisted. The first thing I’m going to do is get rid of it for good!” She disappeared down the hall, leaving Dana smiling without amusement. David leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

  “I really must have frightened her to death. What in the world did I do?” she asked him. “You never said.”

  Something violent quivered in the air for a moment and then whisked away. His eyes were dark. “You frightened us both,” was his only immediate reply. Dana’s heart sank.

  Her voice shook. “Why won’t you tell me? Is it so horrible, then?”

  “No! No, it isn’t.” He was then right beside her and stroking her face with long, calloused fingers, which only served to make her shake even more. “It’s just—hard for me. I think we’d better wait until your mother is back here.”

  “Well, I’m back.” The voice came composedly from the doorway. David’s hand fell slowly away. Dana jerked in her seat. Denise gave her daughter a strange look, which Dana didn’t catch, as she was staring fixedly down at her clasped hands. “What was it you wanted to talk about? I somehow get the impression that you know more about this than even Dana.” Denise moved on into the kitchen. “Would either of you like coffee?”

  Both answered together, “Please.” And they looked at each other, David acutely uncomfortable, Dana abashed. Denise’s brows went up.

  Dana watched while her mother poured two cups, suddenly aware of how empty she was. She was beginning to feel the consequences of her lack of appetite, along with the emotional stress of the last few hours. She felt strung out, trembly. Denise spoke over her shoulder. “One thing I’ve learned over the years, David, is that you never take what seems to be coincidental circumstance for granted around Dana. Here you are.” She handed him a cup and he poured milk into it and gave it wordlessly to Dana. She took it as silently, and then realised that her mother was watching them oddly. Denise handed him another cup, for which he thanked her and sipped at as she sat back at the table. She asked quietly, “Whose story goes first, or are they both so intertwined it’s the same story?”

  Again David looked at Dana as she lifted her eyes to meet his. His face was inscrutable. She could feel how inwardly tense and uncomfortable he felt. More used to talking to her mother about this, Dana took a deep breath and replied, “We are having the same nightmares, Mom. They’re his—”

  He said very quietly, “…memories, Mrs. Haslow. They’re memories of Vietnam.” His chin was sunk on to his chest as he watched them both from under heavy, straight brows. Denise audibly sucked in her breath. “For some reason Dana is extremely sensitive to me and is picking up these…”

  “—emotions,” Dana supplied as he hesitated. His eyes flickered back to her. There was disconcertment in his eyes. She sympathised, she really did. He wasn’t quite used to her yet. Denise had also swiveled her head to Dana, eyes wide. “And you know how I can’t control this, Mom. So while David can somehow clamp down on his control hard enough for his own—stability, I’m left wide open to them and can’t.”

  “Stability is not quite the word for it,” David said heavily, sighing. “But you’ll get the picture.” Dana wasn’t quite sure to whom he was talking, her mother or herself. “Dana doesn’t remember what happened today. But what I think happened was that she was somehow caught in—for lack of a better term right now—a waking nightmare somehow. She was
involved in an unpleasant scene downtown, which, by the way, I still don’t know everything about.” He looked down at Dana, brows raised.

  “Mick was being nasty to a young girl,” she said briefly in explanation. “I caught her distress and went back to see if I could help her.”

  “I see. Well,” David’s low, pleasant voice paused as he searched for words. “Apparently, I somehow knew from either Dana or myself that something was about to happen, and I came on the scene just in time to see Dana hit Mick and run. I stayed just for a moment or so, just long enough to confront the boy, and then I came right after her.” He turned to Dana and walked across the room to her, leaning against the table, very near. She listened, body still slightly shaking. “You ran back here, made up a bundle of medical supplies, and got your father’s gun from the study as your mother and I came upon you. From things that you said, I think you were involved somehow in—God, this is incredible—something that happened to me in Vietnam. You appeared to actually be living through it, yourself.” Despite all his control and deliberately calm voice, something ragged ran through it. Denise made a sound but neither David nor Dana paid any attention to her. “I was,” he said painfully, “a helicopter pilot in ’Nam. I flew wounded men to MASH units, and sometimes supplies, so I was near quite a bit of the fighting…”

  Pain lanced through Dana’s head and she cried out, leaning forward to put her head on the table. The headache was like a physical blow, pounding at her temple. “I crashed!” she sobbed out dryly. “Oh, I’m so dizzy…”

  A hard warm hand descended to her shoulder for support and she vaguely heard David’s exhalation of air as he felt her pain, too. He put a hand to his forehead, clamping down hard on himself. She could feel it, like a tight band across her chest. He was pushing himself under a rigid control again. Her muscles tensed. She was getting hotter and hotter. Sweat trickled down the side of her neck. “I crashed,” he repeated harshly. “Someone had fired on the helicopter as I was making a trip out for a few men who caught some sniper fire. Their unit leader had taken the rest of the men out to pursue the Viet Cong. They’d been apparently killed, ambushed. My engine was hit and I went down in the forest.”