Unchained Memory (The Interstellar Rescue Series Book 1)

by Donna S. Frelick

  Y’all take care of each other.

  Love, Ida

  I stared at Ethan’s stricken face, my mouth suddenly spitless and sour, my lungs collapsed and constricted, unable to release the air in my chest or draw in a new breath. They had come for her. They had come for her like they had come for me. And she was dead because she wasn’t going back to a place where the sun was white and the sky was green and children with bleeding hands worked in endless fields of cruel, cutting leaves.

  “Do you think she could be right?”

  I was only giving voice to my fear. I should have thought of how the man who’d been struggling to rid this woman of her “delusions” for years might have felt. Ethan looked like I’d ripped his heart out and left it bleeding on the front seat.

  “I don’t know,” he said, admitting defeat. “The guy did leave—and he took the injector with him.” He folded the letter carefully and put it back in his pocket. “Let’s go.”

  Shaking, I backed and angled, tacked and rounded to get us out of the Rubik’s cube of parked cars. As we bounced back down the dirt track, we passed a steady line of cars carrying mourners up to the Mickens place.

  I didn’t think to ask Ethan where we were headed. I just took a left at the end of the drive where it came out onto the road and turned back toward Clay Fork. I hadn’t gone more than a hundred yards when he pointed at a wide spot on the shoulder of the road.

  “Pull over.”

  “What?” There wasn’t much time to make the cut. I looked at him to be sure that’s what he wanted.

  “Just do it.”

  I hit the brakes and eased the steering wheel over. The tires went off the road with a jolt and the car slid to a rough stop in the thin gravel of the turnout. Ethan flung open the door and staggered to the back of car. I turned off the engine and swung my head around to see him bent over, one hand on the fender to steady himself, retching his guts out.

  My whole body clenched in sympathy. My poor, poor baby. He’d eaten almost nothing during the afternoon, though the ladies up at the house had pressed all manner of food and drink on him. Now what little he’d choked down was back up again and ending in dry heaves of bitter misery. I reached in the back for the water I’d bought earlier—it seemed like a lifetime ago now—and got out of the car to see if I could help.

  Ethan straightened and walked a few steps away from the car. He didn’t look back at me, and he didn’t speak.

  “Ethan?”

  He stood for another second, then he crumpled to his knees, head bowed, shoulders slumped, arms slack. It was as if all the spine had gone out of him in an instant, as if all his bones had just turned to dust. I dropped the water and ran.

  I could tell even before I got to him that he was crying. When I touched him, he wrapped both arms around my waist and buried his face in my chest and sobbed like a child.

  “I’m so sorry, baby,” I whispered, my own tears falling to join his. God knows I was scared and lost and desperately sad, too. But in that moment, the man who had held me so many times needed me. So I held him, cradling his head against my breaking heart, there on the side of the road. When he could find his feet again, we shuffled together back to the car.

  We got in and sat staring at the empty road. “What now?” I asked him. We had to make some decisions, regardless of the emotional state we were in. Without knowing who was after us or why, it didn’t seem sensible to go back to Nashville, where it would be easy for them to find us. We couldn’t stay on the road forever, and any friends or family who took us in would be at risk.

  “My family has a summer place on a lake in the Adirondacks.” Ethan reached in the glove compartment, got out a map of the eastern U.S, and spread it out on the front seat between us. “It’s usually empty this time of year.” He studied the map.

  I thought about my phone, with its GPS feature. But it didn’t seem safe to use it with God-knows-who on our trail. I’d turned both our phones off in Bristol.

  So I asked, “How long will it take us to get there?”

  “A solid two, maybe two-and-a-half days of driving. Especially if we stick to the back roads.”

  “Back roads. In these mountains?”

  “They’ll be looking for us on the interstate, Asia. It won’t be easy to ditch this car and get a rental in the middle of nowhere.”

  He had a point. Baby would be easy to spot, even in all the traffic on I-81. I squinted at the alternatives.

  “So what do you think? U.S. 19 to I-79?”

  He shook his head. “U.S. 219, then 220 into Pennsylvania.”

  “Shit.” I followed the thin red snake of a line on the map. “Then I’m driving, and if you need to puke again you’ll just have to hang out the window.”

  As we turned back out onto the highway the ghost of a smile on Ethan’s pale face made my heart ache.

  That first leg of the trip was brutal, an hour backtracking to Bluefield to pick up U.S. 460, then more than three hours of weaving through the dark on the looping curves of two-lane U.S. 219. We had been battered both physically and emotionally before we even set out. By the time nine o’clock rolled around, I felt like I’d spent hours hauling in canvas on a ship in a storm-tossed sea. The grief we were both feeling had blown up a hurricane neither Ethan nor I felt like shouting over. We hadn’t exchanged a word since Clay Fork except to verify directions.

  I was so tired I could hardly speak when I called a halt to our flight. “Hey, there’s a town called Marlinton coming up. I say we stop for the night.”

  Ethan sat up and looked at me. “Yeah.”

  We slowed as we came into the tiny town—one or two restaurants closing up at this hour, a darkened gas station, a convenience store blazing lights. We passed a bridge over the Greenbrier River and followed the river out of town again without seeing any place to sleep. I’d begun to think we were out of luck when I saw a massive sign for the Marlinton Motor Inn on the highway at the edge of town.

  “Thank God.” I turned into the parking lot. The place looked busy and well-maintained, though it wouldn’t make anyone’s Most Romantic list. The sign said “Vacancy,” so as far as I was concerned, all systems were go.

  I rolled to a stop in front of the office, and Ethan went in to take care of registration. I stretched some of the kinks out of my back and felt the fatigue sinking into my arms and legs. I’d be in bed soon, after a meal and a hot bath, with this day from hell behind me. I could wrap my arms around Ethan, and he could wrap his arms around me, and we could forget about our aching hearts for a few hours.

  Things would look a lot brighter tomorrow after a good night’s sleep.

  I watched Ethan walk back to the car, and was reminded just how long a day it had been. He moved like an old man after hours of immobility in the car. He limped, and he held his left arm bent and close into his side, protecting the ribs that were undoubtedly cracked underneath the badly bruised muscles. God, I had forgotten—he hadn’t complained, hadn’t said a word about any of it since we rounded that bend in Ida’s drive and saw there was trouble.

  He climbed back in the car, the slightest grunt his only concession to the pain. “Two-twenty-seven. Around the side.” He nodded to indicate the direction. He leaned back slowly in the seat and took a deep breath.

  “You okay, babe?”

  “Sore.”

  “I’ll bet. We’ll get you fixed up here in a minute.”

  I started up the car again and drove around the side of the building, looking for 227. It wasn’t hard to find, toward the center of a second wing looking out onto a farm field. We’d have a walk to the restaurant, but the quiet would make up for it.

  “Hey.” Ethan caught me before I could exit the vehicle. “I registered using my license. Told the guy I’d pay with a check. We can’t use our credit cards—they can track us that way. You understand?”

  My heart sank. “Well, babe, I hope you have some cash in the bank. I think I have about a hundred bucks until my paycheck hits next week. And unles
s we get all this figured out before, say, Wednesday, I won’t have a job to go back to, either.”

  It was true enough, but I meant it as a joke. Ethan didn’t laugh, though. His jaw tightened until I could see a muscle jump near his temple, and he got out of the car without another word.

  The room was big, with two double beds toward the front, a table and two chairs on the far side, even a little fridge and microwave. The wood paneling and mission-style furniture showed some age, but the bathroom and HVAC had been recently upgraded, so we’d found a retro paradise. I cranked up the heat and prepared to make myself at home.

  Ethan lowered himself to the bed and struggled to kick off his boots.

  “Here, let me help you.” I hurried across the room to get to him.

  “I think I should be able to get my fucking shoes off by myself.”

  “Shut up.” I brushed his hands away, taking off the boots and setting them aside. He was cranky, that was understandable, but I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.

  I glanced up to see him studying me, his face somber.

  “I’m sorry.” There was such sadness in his voice, an emotion that was way out of proportion for the apology he was making.

  I smiled to hide my concern. “We’re both tired, Ethan.” I stood up and tugged gently on the right sleeve of his jacket. “Easy does it, now.” Once I got his right side free, I managed to slip the jacket off the injured left side. I knelt at the side of the bed. “Let me take a look.”

  He scowled, but he leaned back to give me access. I lifted up the tee-shirt and looked. His left side from the middle of his chest to his hip was a mass of black, blue and red. It was ugly and swollen, but there were no obvious knots or depressions in the ribs. I ran my fingers over the ribs as lightly as I could, trying to follow the outlines of the bones without causing him any more pain than necessary.

  “Can you take a deep breath?”

  He tried. He winced, but he didn’t pass out. That was a plus.

  “I don’t know—cracked, but not broken? Hell, my medical knowledge comes straight from watching ER on TV, but that would be my guess.”

  “Mine, too,” he said. “Golden Gloves, as a kid.”

  I grinned. “Really? You’re full of surprises.” My eyes dropped to his torso again—and lingered on the older crosshatching of deep scars across his right side. Unable to help it, my gaze flicked back to his face, and I saw him look away.

  I dropped the shirt. “Okay. You get yourself into bed. I’ll go get some food and some ice for those ribs. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” I stood up and lightly touched his uninjured cheek. “It’s been a rough day, baby, but it’ll be over soon. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “We’re going to be fucking late again, Ethan.” Elizabeth’s anger was like an overheated radiator—scalding, too hot to touch. “Goddamn it! I’ve been waiting out here in the parking lot for twenty minutes. I told you five o’clock.”

  He threw his briefcase in the back of her Lexus and folded himself into the front seat, slamming the door on the driving rain outside the car. “What was I supposed to do, Elizabeth? The man’s depressed, maybe suicidal. He was talking for the first time in weeks. Was I supposed to kick him out of my office just because you have to go to a cocktail party?”

  “Uncle Arthur could have taken today’s session, just for once. Jesus! You never think of these things.” She jerked the car into gear and backed out of the parking space, narrowly missing the Toyota parked next to her.

  “He doesn’t know your uncle.”

  “What difference does it make? All of your talk won’t do a damn bit of good if he’s made up his mind to blow his brains out.” Her beautiful face was contorted with rage.

  “What do you mean, Liz?”

  “Nothing. Shit!” She screeched to a halt at the end of the lot, waiting impatiently for the traffic to clear so she could pull out onto 21st Avenue. A long line of cars in the near lane gave little hope of a quick exit.

  She exhaled a furious sigh and glared at his wrinkled corduroys and tweed jacket. “Oh, for chrissake, Ethan! Didn’t I ask you to change for this?”

  “Did you want to wait another ten minutes?”

  “Well, you look like shit.”

  “Thanks.”

  Spotting a split-second’s indecision on the part of another driver, Elizabeth shot into traffic, over-steering a foot into the far lane and causing a riot of blaring horns. “You knew this was important.”

  Ethan sighed and rubbed his forehead. The headache blooming there would most likely be with him until morning.

  “They’re all important, Liz. Every goddamn meeting, party, dinner and celebrity auction. We used to go places just for fun—do you remember? Just the two of us.”

  “Oh, please. Not again with the ‘you don’t send me flowers’ routine.” Her perfect lips crumpled into a sneer. “Your sense of romance would be a lot more appealing if it weren’t so fucking useless. If it was up to you we wouldn’t have any connections at all in this town. Who do you think pays for all the really crazy people you so love to take care of? Those celebrity clients I send your way, that’s who. And this is the fucking thanks I get.”

  She swerved in front of a slow-moving panel truck to stop at a red light. The driver hit his brakes and slid to a stop behind them.

  “Will you please slow down?” Ethan felt compelled to say it, though he knew it would only add fuel to the fire.

  “Fuck you.” Her hands tapped wildly on the steering wheel, waiting for the light to change. Up ahead the two lanes they sat in narrowed to one and merged with two others coming in from the left as they approached the Broad Street Bridge. Cars lined up with them at the light—waiting for the green. Elizabeth shifted from neutral to first gear and stared at him in defiance.

  “Elizabeth.” His heart suddenly started flailing against his ribs.

  “You’re such a pussy, Ethan.” She looked back at the light. “I hate that about you.”

  On the other side of the bridge was another light, currently green, stopping traffic coming off I-40 and emptying the bridge of traffic backed up from the light they waited behind. Ethan saw her look down at that light and smile.

  “Liz, you’ll never make it.” He used the calm, quiet voice he only used for his special clients, like the one he’d just left behind in his office.

  “Wanna bet?”

  The Lexus revved, the light above them turned green, the wheels spun on the wet pavement and they took off like a shell fired from a cannon. They sped past the first cars off the line, jockeying for position as the lanes funneled the traffic from three lanes into two again. They streaked across the bridge and she was fast, getting faster, but there was no time. He saw the light turn yellow. Then red. There was a blur on the left and a hard jolt, the car veered and something monstrous rushed in from the right to devour them . . .

  “Ethan? Can you hear me, baby?”

  He opened his eyes and saw a different world. Then he drew in a breath and the pain returned—real and as sharply defined as broken glass. A face swam into focus—eyes warm and golden-brown, full lips, high cheekbones framed with wavy hair.

  “Asia?”

  “Thank God! I was beginning to think you wouldn’t wake up—not that you were sleeping very peacefully, either.” She touched his face. “Bad dream?”

  He turned his head and tried to get his bearings. A motel room. Dark. He struggled to sit up and was reminded of his wounded ribs. “What time is it?”

  “Just coming up on five in the morning.”

  He fell back against the pillows. “Shit. Is that all?”

  “Like I said, you haven’t been sleeping well.” She held some water to his lips. He sat up to drink it. “You were out when I got back last night. I kept some ice on your ribs, but you haven’t had anything to eat and you’re probably dehydrated.”

  His stomach roiled. The thought of eating wasn’t a pleasant one.

&nbs
p; She noted the look on his face. “Don’t wrinkle your nose at me. You have to have something.” She went to the fridge in one corner of the room and got out two small containers. “Applesauce or Jell-O?”

  “Jell-O.” The vote held little enthusiasm. He straightened up as quickly as he could, afraid she might try to feed him. His helplessness was already making him angry and taciturn. He just wanted to be left alone.

  She handed him the opened container and a plastic spoon with a look that showed she recognized the signals he was sending, but would honor them only as long as it didn’t interfere with her plans to take care of him.

  “Thanks.” He wouldn’t look at her.

  “Do you have any more of those pills?”

  “What?”

  “The pain pills you were taking. Do you have any more?”

  He shook his head. “I took the last one in the car yesterday.”

  “What about your prescription pad? Do you have it with you?”

  He thought about it. “Yeah, my briefcase is in the car. Why?”

  “Because you need sleep, and you won’t get it without pain meds.” She seemed determined to ignore his attitude. “Write something up, and I’ll go out and get it once the stores open later. We passed a CVS in town last night.”

  His throat tightened. The throb of pain in his ribs intensified and the old, bone-deep ache in his thigh, familiar as the sound of his own name, spiked.

  “I can’t write myself a script, Asia.”

  “No, but you can write me one, Dr. Smartass.” She arched an eyebrow at him in triumph. “And I should have enough money in my account to fill it.”

  Ethan shook his head, clenching his teeth. “We should just get on the road. I’ll be fine.”

  “Uh-uh,” she countered firmly. “We’re going to hole up here for at least today. You’re going to stretch out on that bed where you can be a little bit comfortable with a ton of Percoset onboard and heal up. No more arguments.”