Echo

by E. K. Blair

  She blinks, no expression to her face, and after what feels like hours, she finally responds in chilled words, “I’m nobody.”

  And as mad as I am at her, as much as I hate her, as much as I want to celebrate her downfall, I have the urge to convince her that she is someone. I want to remind her of all the reasons I fell in love with her, but who’s to know if those reasons were just products of her deception. I need a ballast of understanding with her, but I don’t know if that will ever come.

  And what would I even do if I got it?

  There’s so much I want to say, so many questions, but I know this isn’t the moment for any of that. Turning off the water, I grab some towels, tying one around my waist before I get her wrapped up.

  I lead her to the bed and sit her down, saying, “Stay here. I’ll be right back with some clothes.”

  I rush to my room to toss on my sleep pants and a t-shirt before returning with a pair of my boxers and a shirt for her. I get her dressed and lay her down in the bed. She remains quiet; I don’t even attempt to speak when she rolls onto her side, facing away from me. I know she’s got to be physically and emotionally drained, and I want to let her rest, but I also don’t trust her to leave her alone right now.

  So while I wait for Kyla to arrive, I pick up the envelope that contains the papers I took from Elizabeth’s room and take a seat on one of the chairs in the corner of the room by the windows. I pull out the sheaf of documents, and start riffling through them to get them in order before I start to read.

  The information contained in the court documents is unsettling, and I can’t believe what I’m reading. I spend the next half hour going over her mother’s testimony where she admits wanting to terminate the pregnancy when she learned about it, but her husband begged her to keep it for him, so she did. But that after the baby was born, she grew depressed and started having thoughts of harming and even killing Elizabeth when she was an infant. How she felt her husband loved their daughter more than her. And eventually, how she secretly handled the selling of the baby to some guy she met through friends who lived in Kentucky.

  The intercom buzzes, alerting someone’s at the gate, snapping me out of my engrossed thoughts.

  Setting the papers down on the side table, I walk over to the bed and am shocked to see she’s still awake as she stares out the window blankly.

  “Are you okay?”

  No answer.

  “I need to run downstairs for a moment,” I tell her, but still, no returned response.

  Before I walk out of the room, I push the button on the intercom to open the gate and then head downstairs to meet Kyla.

  “Thank you for coming on such short notice,” I tell her when she enters my home.

  “Alick stressed how important it was for you to keep this matter private.”

  “Yes. The last thing I need is for some reporter to start digging around if it were to be mentioned I was at the hospital with a woman.”

  Her smile is warm, and when she touches my arm, she says, “You and Alick have been friends for years, and although you and I don’t know each other that well, I want you to know that you can trust me.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Before I check on the girl—”

  “Her name’s Elizabeth,” I interrupt, my stomach still knotted tightly from reading about her mother.

  “Before I examine Elizabeth, can you tell me what happened tonight?”

  “I received a call from a friend, letting me know she would be learning something that would probably upset her.”

  Her brows rise in confusion.

  “The details aren’t important, but needless to say, she didn’t take the news well. After I ended the call with my friend, I rushed over to where she’s been staying, wanting to check in on her, and when I arrived, she had locked herself in her room. She was screaming like a maniac and crying. I kicked the door down and she was covered in blood. She must have smashed her head against something. There was blood everywhere. She had calmed a little and began talking. I thought she was talking to me, so I was responding to her, but she wasn’t looking at me. And then she mentioned someone else’s name,” I tell her, not wanting to reveal too much detail. “She must’ve been hallucinating, and then it was like her whole body was in pain and she started complaining about a ringing in her head.”

  “Has she had episodes like this before?”

  “I’m assuming, but I don’t know for sure. When I brought her back here, I put her in the shower, and her whole body is covered in bruises. It’s like she’s been beating herself. I know she has this wound on her head that she’s been picking at.”

  “Is she on any medications that you know of?”

  “No. I don’t know.”

  “It’s okay,” she assures and then asks to see her.

  I lead her up the stairs and into the guest room where I left her. I stand off to the side while Kyla walks around the bed to talk to Elizabeth.

  “Hi there. I’m Dr. Allaway. Can you tell me your name?”

  I look on, waiting for some sort of movement, but there’s no shift when I hear her weak voice answer, “Elizabeth.”

  “Last name?”

  “Archer.”

  Kyla sets her medical bag on the nightstand and begins asking Elizabeth a series of questions about the evening’s events. Kyla helps adjust Elizabeth in bed and sits her up with a stack of pillows behind her back. They begin talking, and Elizabeth’s voice sounds hollow as she explains about her mother, and I can tell by what she’s saying that she doesn’t know the extent of the facts like I do. She probably just read a few words and got herself so worked up, she exploded.

  “Was there anyone else in the room with you and Declan?” she questions, knowing I had mentioned witnessing her talking to someone that wasn’t there.

  I lean against the wall, silent, with my arms crossed over my chest when I catch her eyes glossing over with tears.

  She nods, and Kyla asks, “Who else was there?”

  “My brother,” she answers weakly.

  “Can you tell me where your brother is now?”

  “I’m not crazy,” Elizabeth immediately defends.

  “No one said you were. But I need you to be honest with me so that I can help you.”

  “You can’t help me.”

  “Will you let me try?” she offers. “We don’t have to talk about your brother right now if you don’t want to, but would you let me take a look at your head?”

  Kyla begins to treat the wounds on her forehead and also the one on the back of her head. She then moves to examine the bruises on her body along with taking her vitals. While she does all this, she continues to talk to Elizabeth, and soon she reveals, “Sometimes when I’m really upset or stressed, I see my brother. He talks to me and calms me down.”

  Once she is finished, she writes a prescription for a mood stabilizer and as I walk her out, she tells me, “I’d like to see her again, but I’d like her to also visit with a psychiatrist. Like I said, I don’t know much about this case or the patient’s family history, but my first thought is that she’s most likely dealing with an untreated depressive episode with some congruent psychosis.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “There’s no doubt she is terribly depressed right now, but that coupled with seeing and hearing things that don’t exist along with her erratic behaviors raise quite a few red flags. It’s actually a good sign though that her hallucinations seem to be related to her distress.”

  “I’ve never known her to be this unstable though,” I tell her, thinking back to the time we shared in Chicago. She was always so pulled together and witty. Sure she would have these moments of sadness, but nothing like this.

  “It’s not an entirely uncommon reaction and most often it surfaces under times of extreme stress,” she informs. “She also has a slight concussion from her head trauma. Nothing serious, but I would strongly suggest that you make sure you are waking her up every two to three hours, okay?”<
br />
  “Of course.”

  “I’ll email you a list of doctors I would recommend for her to visit when I get to the office tomorrow.”

  When she puts her coat on, I hand her back her bag, saying, “I cannot thank you enough for this.”

  She smiles and gives a nod. “If you need anything else or notice any changes in her, please call me.” I watch as she walks to her car, and before she gets in, she reminds, “And get that script filled.”

  “Drive safely.”

  Walking back inside, I immediately pull out my cell and call Lachlan.

  He picks up on the second ring. “Hello?”

  “What the fuck were you thinking calling me after you gave her the information on her mother?” I snap.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “I told you I wanted to know as soon as you knew, not after you met with her. If you’re finding it difficult to follow my very simple instructions, maybe you’d be better suited to work for someone who doesn’t give a shit about attention to detail.”

  “It was a complete oversight on my part; I apologize.”

  “You knew what the fuck was in those court documents, and your oversight was in complete negligence.”

  “Agreed.”

  “How the hell did you get your hands on those documents with the case involving a minor anyway?” I ask.

  “Luckily I know someone who knows someone that I was able to pay off in exchange for papers,” he explains, and then asks, “She read them?”

  “Yeah, she read them.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “Not of your concern. I think you’re forgetting that your priorities are with me. I want you to stop following her because it seems you’re sidetracked, and I don’t want another oversight on your part,” I berate and then disconnect the call.

  When I turn around, I stop in my tracks when I see Elizabeth standing at the foot of the stairs.

  “You were having me followed?”

  “DO YOU BLAME me?” he says after I question him.

  And he’s right, I can’t blame him. How can I expect him not to be suspicious of me?

  His face is soured in frustration as he walks towards me. He brushes my shoulder as he passes, saying, “Go to bed,” and then heads up the stairs.

  “Why am I here?”

  He turns and looks down to me. “Because I don’t trust you to be alone with yourself.” He begins walking back up the stairs, and a few steps later, adds without making any eye contact with me, “The doctor says you have a slight concussion, and I’m to wake you every couple hours. You should get some rest.”

  “Why are you so cold? You’re so on and off,” I question, confused by this push and pull he has with me.

  “Certainly you don’t need reminding, do you?”

  I watch as he ascends, and I’m left alone in the silence of his home. His demeanor shifts in a snap, and I can only assume that whoever he was just talking to on the phone is the cause for that sudden snap. I don’t worry about being followed because I deserve the distrust.

  Making my way back up the stairs, I notice the door to his room is open and quietly pad over. When I look in, he’s lying on top of his perfectly made bed. His hands folded behind his head, ankles crossed, and staring up at the ceiling. I’m allowed a moment to absorb him before he senses my presence.

  With his body remaining still and his eyes fixed to the ceiling, he says without any inflection, “Get out of my room.”

  His tone is even, but I can hear the animosity deep within. So I go to the room he’s put me in and crawl under the sheets. There’s a disconnection inside of me, no doubt due to the extremities of this evening. Maybe I should be embarrassed that Declan saw me coming completely undone like he did, but I’m numb to emotion right now. My body is depleted, and to dissect this whole situation would take more energy than I have. So I roll to my side and stare out of the large windows at the full moon that lights the night’s ink and slowly drift away.

  WHISPERS CATCH ME, wrapping their sweet timbres around my heart, and gently pull me out of my slumber.

  “Elizabeth,” his soft rasp calls to me. “Open your eyes.”

  Fingers comb through my hair, and the touch sends a sparkling shiver through me, warming me from the inside and rousing me awake.

  Declan sits on the edge of the bed, hand cupping the side of my head as he looks down upon me. And he’s so beautiful, I question if I’m still dreaming.

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  Exhaustion is all over me, and as much as I want to stay up with him, my eyes drop. I’m able to answer his question with a nod before sleep takes over.

  LIGHT FILTERS THROUGH my lids, and when my eyes flutter open, I see Declan moving about the bathroom. When he emerges in the doorway with a glass of water, he flicks the light off, darkening the room. I’m in a haze as his shadow moves closer to me, and when I feel the bed dip, my arm instinctually reaches out for him.

  “Here,” he says. “Take these.”

  Dropping a couple painkillers in my hand, I put them in my mouth and then take a sip from the glass of water he gives me. My head falls back to the pillow, weighing a thousand pounds and throbbing with an oncoming headache. I release an appreciative hum at the fact Declan was a step ahead of me in knowing I would need the pain relief. And with my eyes closed, the haze thickens, and I sink into darkness.

  GASPING HARD, I’M knocked out of a dead sleep as my body shoots up. Eyes flash open wide and I clutch my chest, panting loudly. My head is clouded with sleep as it strains to catch up to my alert body. Looking around my unfamiliar surroundings, I panic. Everything is disoriented.

  “Elizabeth.”

  My attention flies to the doorway of the room where Declan is standing, and it’s then my confusion dissipates into clarity.

  “Are you okay?” he questions as he walks over to me and sits down on the bed.

  “Yeah,” I tremble.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. Bad dream, I guess.”

  We sit, facing each other, and I notice he’s no longer wearing his shirt, and the moment my eyes catch it, I choke on a strangled breath.

  It’s there, on his chest—my disgrace.

  The unmistakable proof.

  The reality of my fraudulence.

  My focus is locked on what remains from my twisted game. It mars his perfect body.

  Two gunshot wounds branded on his left pec, tainting his chest in my scum.

  My pulse quickens, and when he looks down to see what has me so shaken, my heart reunites with the anguish from when I thought I’d lost him forever.

  My hand lifts, and he doesn’t stop me when I reach out and brush my fingertips over the bullet wounds. The raised flesh that hides the deep scar tissue beneath splinters me to the core.

  I keep my eyes on his chest as he allows me this touch, and when my chin starts to quiver, I force my words out around the lump lodged in my throat, and the tears slip. “I thought you were dead.”

  And in an unexpected move, a tender gesture I never thought I’d get again, he cups my face and licks my tears. My hands grip tightly to his wrists as he cradles my cheeks. Closing my eyes, I lean into his mouth as he swallows my salts.

  In an unrushed moment, his lick eclipses into a silken kiss that erupts a wondrous rekindling inside of my womb. Whether I believe his emotions to be real or not, I pretend that they are, because I want his love so badly. I want to believe his lips are genuine and they mean exactly what my heart yearns for them to mean.

  I calm as we now share the same breath. My hands still cling to his wrists because I need the support of his strength in this moment. Opening my lips with his, he sinks his tongue deep inside of my mouth, claiming and binding us together.

  His taste is home—familiar and delicious.

  My body begins to swim in bliss when he lays me down on my back, and my legs fall open for him. He’s incredibly hard, pressing himself against me. I whimper as his kisses become
more intent. His lips begin to move fervently, rapturing my mouth, and I meld to him, allowing him to take take take. I’d give him my last breath if that’s what he desired.

  He’s my body’s epitaph.

  His intensity grows and we’re nothing but wild heartbeats, frantic breaths, bleeding lips, broken souls. We cling, grab, and claw our way to incomprehensible closeness. His mouth finds the curve of my neck, and I writhe in pleasure as he bites me, marking my flesh, breaking through the delicate tissue, bleeding me out for him to taste.

  He growls deeply, chest vibrating against mine. Reaching down, he grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it up, but quickly stops. Bracing himself above me, he looks down at my stomach, and when my eyes move to see what’s pulled him away from me, my gut turns. I’ve mutilated my skin, gifting it with monstrous bruises.

  Declan drops his head, the tips of his hair brushing along my stomach. The moment my hands touch his head, he snaps up and pushes himself off of me. I sit up and instantly miss him as I watch his sudden change. His eyes narrow then pinch shut as ache penetrates his face.

  What he’s able to mend inside of me so quickly, he shatters even faster.

  He stands and walks away, depleting the goodness he just filled me with. But before he leaves, he turns back, and says, “You breathe deceitful fumes; I can taste it when we kiss.”

  And then he’s gone, leaving me an empty mess, not wanting to think about the war that’s going on inside of him, because that war will always cast back to me, and I can’t deal with the responsibility of that burden in this moment. I’m too weak.

  WHEN THE SUN begins to shine through the windows, I wake. My head is already throbbing as I stretch and sit up, tired from being woken up all through the night. I had a hard time falling back to sleep after kissing Declan, and when I walk to the bathroom, my darkened eyes confirm.

  I rummage around but find no toiletries. All my belongings are back at Isla’s. I shiver from the chill in the house as I make my way to Declan’s room, but it’s empty.