Watermark (The Emerald Series Book 3)

by James, Kimberly

I smiled at the compliment. The breeze had picked up and a piece of my hair caught on my parted lips. Michael reached over and threaded it with his finger, tucking it behind my ear before dropping his hand back to his side. The gesture ignited an ache for something I knew I might never get back. Jamie used to touch me that way, and I hated that my love for him was overshadowed by the loss of our baby, the loss of him.

  Tires screeched and Michael and I looked toward the car wheeling into the parking lot. My heart lurched to see the Bronco, skidding to a halt behind Michael’s Jetta.

  “Noah, what are you doing here?” I asked as he hopped out.

  “You haven’t been answering your phone.” The hardness of his tone set my heart to racing.

  I fumbled in my empty pocket. I must have left my phone in my Tahoe.

  “What’s going on?” My first thought was that something must have happened to my mom or my dad for Noah to come after me like this.

  “You need to come with me.” He held out his hand. “Jamie needs you.”

  35

  I sat by Jamie’s bed for three days.

  He was back in the Facility, the one the place he’d sworn he’d never return to. In a way that made us even. We were both back in places we said we’d never go.

  They hadn’t put him in a cage this time. They’d put him in a coffin.

  He lay on a thin mattress in a clear cylinder filled with Gulf water. Another wall between us. A round white patch adhered to the left side of his chest, keeping track of his vital signs. A tube snaked into one arm, pumping him full of an experimental antibiotic made especially for Jamie and his kind. An antibiotic developed from the samples of the blood they’d drawn from him during his week long stay here. Maybe it would work. Maybe it wouldn’t. No one knew for sure. All we could do was wait.

  The infection had spread so terrifyingly fast. Nearly consumed him in a matter of hours. His ability to heal was a defense mechanism meant to protect him from exposure to the germs he and his kind were so susceptible to. Jamie was more vulnerable than most, having been in the Deep for so long. In so many ways the Deep made him stronger, but it made him weaker too.

  My dad said he'd been stabbed with a knife. Outwardly the wound had healed, but inside… inside whatever had been delivered into his body by the blade had been intent on killing him.

  For three days I'd prayed. I prayed to whatever force saved him before that she’d do it again. I promised her she could have him. That I wouldn’t fight her for him, and I vowed once again to give him up if she would let him open his eyes.

  Three days and still he hadn’t opened his eyes.

  I leaned in close to his bed, taking advantage of my time alone with him. I didn’t get much. Noah and Lara were usually with me, keeping a vigilant watch. My mom and dad were never far away. The barrier once again provided nothing but frustration, but human contact wouldn't help him right now. He needed the protection of this cage, as terrifying as it was to see him inside it, as if he were a specimen in a jar. His hair floated away from his head like tiny ribbons of silk, and I watched the gills behind his ears pulse, feeding off the water. Lara insisted it was a good sign his hair had grown so much. It meant he was healing. It meant he was on his way to regaining his health. I wanted to see his eyes. I wanted proof. Hope had gotten me nowhere in the last two years.

  They told me not to touch his coffin and I kept having to draw my hand away, the temptation almost more than I could stand.

  “Lyla looked like you, you know.” I coughed away the sudden ghost of sadness that always lurked in the fringes of my mind. “She was so tiny she fit in the palm of one hand, but when I saw her, when I touched her, it was you I saw, you I touched. She was absolutely perfect, just like you.”

  I’d had to see her, knowing she’d never taken a single breath. I had to see Lyla and hold her just once and say goodbye. I’d looked into the face of my baby girl who’d done nothing but remind me of her father. I’d cried. Cried for Jamie. Cried for us. Then we’d put her in the ground, and I was alone.

  “I can’t do that again, Jamie. I love you more than anything, and God, it’s not enough. I wish it were, but I’m not ready. Not yet. I hope when you're better and you're out of here, you'll understand that.” I hoped he heard me. Dr. Somers insisted he did.

  The door behind me clicked open. I didn’t look to see who it was. I smelled my mom's perfume, recognizing the fall of her footsteps.

  “He looks better today,” she said when she came to stand by his coffin-bed and rested her hand lightly on my shoulder.

  “Does he?” I’d been too afraid to hope.

  “His color is better. He looks fuller.” She took the chair next to mine and scooted closer.

  He’d lost an astonishing amount of weight. And for the first time since he'd been back, he appeared vulnerable, almost weak. He didn't look so invincible.

  “You think the antibiotic is working?”

  “I do," she said. "Dr. Somers just gave Lara a report on his progress. His vitals are stronger. They expect him to fully recover."

  I pursed my lips and blinked. “It’s working then.”

  “He’s going to be okay. In fact, the antibiotic they developed from his new blood samples is nothing short of a miracle. They’ll be able to use it to save lives in the future.”

  I knew that was good news but it was hard to care while his eyes were still closed.

  “Why won’t he open his eyes?”

  “He will. He’s just resting.” My mom sat with me for a few minutes.

  I watched him closely, every few seconds believing I saw him move. It might have been just his arm or his hand floating in the water. But… there it was again, a slight twitch in his pinky finger. I barely registered when my mom left, so rapt I was on Jamie's hand, mere inches away and completely out of reach. I waited, breath held, for it to move again. Ignoring the rules, I placed my hand against the glass.

  Please wake up. Open your eyes.

  As though it were a magnet, his hand floated toward mine, webs fanning, and I imagined the feel of his touch through the glass. Whether he was caged or not there always seemed to be something between us, something I couldn’t move past.

  My eyes traveled up the length of his body. Even considering the amount of weight he'd dropped, he was still magnificent, finely sculpted, and when my eyes finally made it to his face, his eyes were finally open, pale and beautifully clear.

  His lips moved, his voice an echo in my ear. “Tell me.”

  “Jamie,” I said as understanding and acceptance passed between us. “Your name is Jamie.”

  36

  "Mission accomplished, sir.” Jamie tossed the slip of paper on Marshall's desk. It was in worse shape after being in his pocket for two days, wrinkled and dirt stained.

  The first thing he’d done after his release from the Facility was go back to the ruined structure where Carl had confronted him. His past kept drawing him back there and after he’d searched the walls, he’d figured out why. He would have sworn he hadn't been on land until a month ago. He had no recollection of hiding the list in the crumbling brick. A list he’d given up almost two years of his life for.

  "I didn't think you remembered." Marshall leaned back in his chair, one elbow on the arm rest, the fingers of his other hand held pensively to the corners of his mouth. He didn't touch the paper, but he studied it from where he sat. “Where did you find it?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Jamie regarded the blank paper. Time and decay had worn away the names and Jamie had erased what was left of them. But he remembered and he saw his father’s name once again etched in a messy scrawl. His name. They wouldn’t stop trying. He knew that now.

  “So it’s over.”

  “I guess it is,” Jamie said, knowing for him it wasn’t. He suspected all he had to do was tell Marshall the truth. Tell him what he remembered. That Carl Rogan was a part of a group of men who had sanctioned the murder of his father, part of a group of men who had been actively working toward
the slow demise of his tribe. Jamie was sure, with his help, Marshall would go after him. And Carl would end up like Flores, with three squares a day and a saltwater swimming pool. Lander justice was a joke. Jamie had his own form of justice and he wanted the chance to met it out in his own way without interference.

  Besides, this was tribe business. This was Jamie's battle, and while he trusted Marshall, he needed revenge, now more than ever. His mind had given him a vivid picture of the men sitting at that table with Flores. Faces he'd never forget. Names he would use to make his own list. And when the day came when he knew it was safe. When his beast was fully tamed, and when he was sure there was no way to forget his name, he’d go after Carl. He’d end this war they’d started.

  Marshall regarded him for another long minute and finally nodded. Not for the first time, Jamie got the distinct impression Marshall was less than sorry about he and Erin’s split.

  Jamie looked down, surveying his hands gripping the chair. Grotesque hands. Hands that still startled him sometimes when he saw them. A reminder of what he was in the core of his being. It still amazed him Erin had kissed these hands. She'd let Jamie touch her body with these hands. They'd act as a reminder when he started missing her that she made the right decision. He'd heard her say once that she wasn't ready for him, and those words had cut deep. But ever since Carl had shown up, since the second Carl's scent invaded his nose, Jamie realized as much as he loved Erin, he wasn't ready for her either. He wasn't quite ready to be the man she needed. Not while his enemy was still alive. Not until he knew his tribe was safe.

  Jamie cleared his throat and still staring at his monster hands, he said, "I never said I was sorry for what happened with Erin. Her getting pregnant.”

  "Jamie, you don’t—" Marshall started but the quick honing of Jamie's gaze halted his words.

  "Yes. I do. I owe you an apology. I was young and full of myself. I took what I wanted, damn the consequences. Didn't mean I didn't love her. I did. I do." Jamie inhaled and it was as though the air was misted with tiny shards of glass. The sting of regret, the helplessness, the sorrow he'd experienced that day he and Erin had gone to Lyla’s grave prickled his skin. He hadn't understood before, but he thought he understood better now. "Standing with Erin over our daughter's grave, the thought of her…" Tore him up. Infused his heart, his whole body, with a wild need to hold her. Protect her. Only he was too late. How could he feel so strongly about someone he'd never known, never set eyes on? "You should have come after me with a shotgun."

  "I thought about it plenty," Marshall said, a glint of regret in his eyes. That look of wishing there was a way to go back and change things and knowing there wasn't and being forced to live what what was. Jamie thought he must look the same. All the wishing in the world wouldn’t change the last two years. Wouldn’t change the woman Erin had grown into in his absence. Sure as hell wouldn’t change what he’d become.

  “But my daughter loved you,” Marshall said. “And I wanted her happy."

  "I want her happy too. And I want you to know, I won't give her any grief over the divorce. I'll make this as easy for her as I can. I think she's right. Maybe in time…" Jamie choked on the very thought. He didn't want to put a hope in his mind Erin might not share. He'd hold that hope to himself. He might be willing to let her go, but he wasn't willing to give up completely. "She's been through enough."

  "Yes, she has. It means a lot to me to hear you say that." Marshall sat forward in his chair. "I think the same is true for you," Marshall continued. "You didn't fail, Jamie. Not on the mission. Not with Erin."

  "Thanks for saying so." Jamie nodded even if it weren't true. He flinched as he imagined the room closing in on him. He'd been indoors too long. He hated walls. Without the hope of Erin coming home, he doubted he’d ever sleep under a roof or in his bed again.

  "Jamie," Marshall called as he reached for the door.

  “Sir.”

  "I'm going to miss having you for a son-in-law,” Marshall said, coming around the desk with his hand extended. “But I'll be honored to have you as a friend."

  "I'd like that.” Jamie clasped the offered hand, squeezing through the sting of too much feeling before Marshall pulled him into an embrace and thumped him on the back twice. "Thank you, sir."

  Jamie left the office door cracked behind him. Now that he'd completed that task, he only needed to get out of Erin's house without caving to the desire to see her. He made it as far as the bottom of the stairs and stopped, knowing he shouldn't. She was in her room. Music played, the muffled sounds of the driving beat vibrating the very walls of his chest. He imagined her dancing as he listened to her feet pad across the floor. Clenching his fists, he forced himself to start moving again when all he wanted to do was bound up the stairs and get a look at her face. Maybe she would say his name. Ever since he’d caught the scent of Carl’s blood, he kept having to remind himself who he was.

  Jamie managed to get out of the house and through the yard. He walked to the end of the dock like he’d done countless times before, his toes curling over the edge of the wood. The water glistened like diamonds under the sun, the breeze stealing over him in sympathy. One last look, that’s all he needed.

  She was framed in the window to her bedroom. He felt the impact of her gaze from where he stood. It was a strange feeling to be leaving her. She was breaking his heart and he was proud of her for it. He was proud of her for choosing what was best for her. She lifted her hand to the glass, and he watched as her lips moved around his name. It whispered in his ear, the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

  Her voice. Erin’s voice. The voice that had called him home.

  He dove into the bay to the echo of his name.

  37

  It had been over a month since I’d seen Jamie. Christmas and New Year’s had come and gone with little fanfare, the holidays feeling like a stall before my future really began. I’d seen Noah and Caris. I’d even seen Mrs. Jacobs, but Jamie had kept his distance. He said he wouldn’t come, that he wouldn’t make this harder than it already was, and he’d kept his word.

  And I’d kept my word to myself until today. Days and days of trying to convince myself a clean break was best, that seeing Jamie again would do neither of us any good. But here I was. I might have been making a mistake, but I had to see him one last time and reassure myself with my own eyes he was okay. And I wanted it to be here on the beach. The first place I’d ever seen him and he’d kissed me, and I’d known nothing about my life would ever be the same.

  A cold wind blew across the beach and I pulled my jacket closed against the chill, crossing my arms in a self-hug. A group of gulls huddled together, their gray feathers bristling in the breeze.

  Jamie’s back was to me and I wondered what he was looking for, staring out over the gentle churn of the water. He must have heard me approach because he turned in my direction and our eyes collided. His face remained devoid of emotion, the brushstroke of blue accentuated by the blue sky at his back. His stance was guarded, his stare sterile, like he wore armor. I couldn’t blame him. This wasn’t easy for me either. But necessary. My eyes scoured every inch of him, imprinting his image on my brain. This was how I wanted to remember him. Not in a cage or a coffin, but in this place. His place. With the Gulf at his back and the sun bright on the sand.

  It took me awhile, but I finally found my voice, though it didn’t sound like me at all. I never would have dreamed I could bring myself to say these words. Not to Jamie.

  “I came to say goodbye.” The words were softly spoken, but I saw the second they hit their mark. He flinched, the shift in his eyes subtle as he absorbed them like a physical blow. He blinked once, then twice. Two long strides closed the space between us. It was too much to hope that he wouldn’t touch me. I stood unmoving, powerless under his ardent stare as he cupped my jaw in his hands. The hands of a monster. Hands I would never forget. The way they touched me. The way they loved me. I’d never forget his lips, soft and warm and pliant. I tasted the s
orry on them, the contrition. He lifted his head and I wanted to grab his face and pull it back down. Instead, I held my arms rigid at my sides, denying myself any more contact. Any more might dissolve what was left of my intentions to go through with this.

  “If you ask me to, I’ll wait for you.” His voice was raw with pent-up emotion. I felt it down to the very center of me, and I swear my heart righted itself a little.

  What he asked would be so easy. The words were there, thumping with each beat of my heart, begging to be voiced. It wouldn’t be fair. And because I loved him, I didn’t say them. Not until his hands released my face and his eyes grew shadowed, the armor of self-preservation slipping back into place. Not until he turned and those powerful legs carried him away from me and he dove into the oncoming surf. Not until I knew there was no possible way he could hear them did I dare utter the words.

  “Wait for me.”

  Copyright © 2015 by Kimberly James

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