Never Let Me Fall

by Abbie Roads

  But what was she going to do…blurt out the truth right now? In front of both of them? She wasn’t even sure if she could force the words from her lips. It had been so long since she’d actually spoken to anyone.

  Dr. Stone aimed his full attention on her. A large, engaging smile fired on his face.

  “It is such a pleasure to meet you.” His words rang true, but there was an aura of sadness about him. Dr. Stone came forward with his hand outstretched for her to shake. She looked at Thomas and knew she had a what-the-hell-do-I-do look on her face. He lifted his chin in a minute gesture of encouragement. Call it trying to make him proud, but she dropped his hand and awkwardly grasped Dr. Stone’s. His grip was firm and full of warmth.

  A gorgeous smile beamed on Thomas’s face while he closed the door. At least she was able to give him this moment of happiness before she tore it all away.

  Dr. Stone let her go, and she shifted closer to Thomas. He wrapped his arm around her, hauling her in to him. It was all she could do to not turn in to his chest and hide. Dear Lord, what was wrong with her that she couldn’t even interact normally with one of his friends?

  The doctor looked around the foyer, took in the open staircase to his right, the wide-open dining room in front of them, and the double parlors to his left. “They don’t build them like this anymore.”

  “I know. I looked at a lot of newer homes before this one.” Thomas motioned for Dr. Stone to go into the parlor. “But I walked in the front door of his place and said, ‘This is the one.’ It was love at first sight.” Thomas looked down at Helen. Heat burst across her face. “I haven’t changed a thing. The old girl has good bones and was well preserved before I bought her.”

  It was silly, but a weird sort of pride of place surged through her. He loved this place as much as she did.

  Dr. Stone sat on the love seat, and they sat on the couch across from him. Thomas wrapped his arm around her back, holding her tight to him. Something about his arm around her soothed the anxiety of meeting someone new.

  “Helen is very quiet, but I always know what she’s thinking.” Thomas’s words were aimed at Dr. Stone, but his gaze fell on her.

  At least he got the awkward part of her not talking out of the way.

  “I’m not interrupting, am I?” Dr. Stone looked at the coat Helena still wore. “Were you getting ready to go somewhere?”

  She should plaster a happy smile on her face, nod, wave, and walk away. She had her coat on. It would make sense for her to leave now. And maybe Thomas wouldn’t try to stop her in front of Dr. Stone. But no matter how much she knew she should, she couldn’t.

  When neither she nor Thomas responded to his question, Dr. Stone rested his full attention on her. “So Evanee tells me that you two have a special connection. Can you tell me about it?”

  Evanee? That was Thomas’s sister’s name. And she’d told Dr. Stone that they had a special connection? That didn’t make any sense. She looked at Thomas to see if he knew what was going on.

  He cleared his throat. His arm, still slung around her, pulled her in closer as if she were his anchor in a raging ocean. “I’m not exactly sure what’s going on, but something is happening. I think… No, I know…” He looked at her. She felt herself tumbling into his eyes. “I healed her.”

  His words rocked her back on the couch. That’s why he had his arm around her—so she wouldn’t fall over.

  He looked at her. “I know it sounds weird, but think about it. You were shot in the chest. In the heart.” His gaze flicked down to the wound, then back up. “You should’ve died. You would’ve died. But I healed you. You walked out on the other side of that gunshot wound with a bandage.”

  His voice sounded like it came at her from a long tunnel—tinny and muted.

  “And just a bit ago, I healed you again.” He sounded so sure of himself, but his words frightened her. Not only for what they meant, but because she desperately wanted to believe him.

  When he’d touched her scars, she had gotten the feeling back in her body, but wasn’t that just coincidence or an example of being motivated by anger? Her vision swung side to side. It took her a moment to realize she was shaking her head.

  “You can deny it all you want, but it happened. You experienced it.” The intensity in his expression didn’t waver.

  Truth and possibility warred inside her.

  Truth: Her wound from being shot was miniscule.

  Truth: The paralysis had faded almost instantly when Thomas had touched her scars.

  Truth: People couldn’t heal each other just by a touch. It wasn’t possible.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” Dr. Stone’s tone was slow and soothing as if he were talking to a confused child. “You’re thinking he’s either gone crazy or you’re crazy for wanting to believe him. Because you sense deep inside that something about all this feels right.”

  It took effort, but Helena pulled her gaze from Thomas to look at Dr. Stone.

  “It doesn’t seem real. It doesn’t seem possible. But look inside yourself. Look at how you feel with him. It’s different than anything you’ve ever felt. You can’t deny the connection. It’s there. It’s strong. It’s a living thing.”

  So much of what Dr. Stone said about Thomas felt true, but how could she believe in something that defied logic?

  “We both need more information.” Thomas’s tone lacked disbelief, and there should at least be a little.

  Dr. Stone looked directly at her. “You’ve been having vivid dreams, haven’t you? Dreams that started right after you met him.”

  She startled. How did he know the dream with Hatchet Guy happened right after she’d seen Thomas in the cemetery? She’d told no one about her dreams. She nodded slowly, not understanding how her dreams were related to Thomas or the weirdness that seemed to be swirling in the room.

  The doctor scooted forward until he was on the edge of his seat. “But the dreams you’re having are more than just vivid. They’re real in a way, aren’t they?”

  His words weren’t complicated. They were simple English, yet she turned them over and over in her mind. Because holy hell, how did he know?

  “Can you tell me what they’re about?” There was no mistaking the eagerness in his voice.

  She pointed at Thomas’s TV. Even if she was speaking, she wasn’t sure she could form words to convey what happened in her dream and what she’d seen on the TV at the hospital.

  Thomas pulled his cell phone from his pocket, tapped on the screen, and handed it to her. She saw a keypad and typed in A girl on the TV survived an attack. And then handed it back to Thomas. He read her words aloud.

  Dr. Stone’s eyes widened. “Wait…” He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone and began scrolling. “I think I saw the story this morning, but things like this are so commonplace that I just dismissed it. Got it!” He shouted the words triumphantly. And then he read aloud the entire news story that Helen had seen on the TV.

  When he finished, she pointed at his phone and gave a thumbs-up.

  “Helen, my question for you is how did you experience the dream on your end?”

  She typed into the phone. A voice in my dream told me that I’m the warrior. I fought the guy and showed her how to survive. She handed the phone back. Dr. Stone read the screen, then studied her words.

  A part of her realized how completely bizarre she must seem, but he took her seriously. It was refreshing that he spoke to her as if she was a normal person. Most people were uncomfortable with her silence and either ignored her or thought she must be stupid.

  “You fought the perpetrator.” Dr. Stone wasn’t asking; he was confirming. “You showed the woman from this story what to do.”

  She dipped her chin in acknowledgment.

  Dr. Stone pinned Helena with a stare. “I think you might be having a form of mutual dreaming. But I’d ne
ed more information.”

  “Mutual dreaming? What’s that?” Thomas asked the question that had formed in Helena’s mind.

  “It’s when you and another person are sharing a dream at the same time. From the news article, it reads as if the victim might’ve been inside Helen’s dream watching what was happening, learning how to survive.”

  Her head bobbed up and down on her shoulders. “You’ve already figured that out. Very good. The sooner you realize your dreams have power, the better.”

  Dreams had power? Her brain seemed to be having trouble processing the conversation. Probably because a mental shift of epic proportions was going to be needed to accommodate all this new information.

  “Have you had any more of these dreams?”

  In a haze of knowledge overload, she raised one finger.

  “Two total,” he confirmed, waiting for her to nod her head. “I’m going to need to know about that other dream. It’s all part of the research.”

  “Research? What research?” Thomas’s arm around her tensed as he spoke.

  “Oh…” The doctor sat back in his seat and steepled his fingers. “I should’ve started back at the beginning. My apologies.” He took in a deep breath, then let it out as he talked. “Back in the seventies, Gale Walker”—his voice hitched on the name—“and I started the Ohio Institute of Oneirology, the OIO for short.”

  “O…what?” Thomas asked.

  “Oneirology, the study of dreams. Back then, the prevailing view was that dreams were meaningless, a waste product produced by the brain while sleeping. Gale and I didn’t agree and began researching dreams from every possible angle. We’ve been on the cutting edge of dream research ever since. Only now is science beginning to look at the possibility that dreams are meaningful. Dreams impact creativity, mood, learning, and a host of other things essential to our survival. These are effects the OIO has known about for decades.

  “Since the beginning of time, people have made claims of having psychic dreams. When studied with the rigors of science, these assertions have almost always fallen apart. Or have been hoaxes. But we discovered Gale was skilled at mutual dreaming. We conducted meticulous studies proving her ability, but the scientific community scoffed at us, disbelieving our research. But we have proven that psychic dreams do exist.”

  Helena felt like making the gesture for time-out so she could sit and think about everything the doctor had said. Psychic dreams. What the heck was going on?

  Dr. Stone’s words bounced around her brain, not finding a place to call home. It all seemed so bizarre. So science-fictiony. Not possible.

  But the doctor wasn’t finished. “Do you have a seizure after these dreams? It’s quite common.”

  No. No way.

  “Ah…hell. I think she does.” Thomas turned to her, and their eyes met. “Her body was flailing wildly, then she couldn’t move after waking up.”

  “She couldn’t move?” Concern dominated Dr. Stone’s voice.

  “It’s happened to her twice that I’ve seen. She wakes up and is paralyzed.” Thomas tattled on her.

  “Well, that’s a bit different. Sounds like hypnopompic sleep paralysis. The brain paralyzes the body during rapid eye movement—REM—sleep so that dreams aren’t physically acted out. In hypnopompic sleep paralysis, the person wakes before the REM cycle is complete. Therefore, the body is still paralyzed.”

  Every word coming out of Dr. Stone’s mouth blew her mind a bit more.

  “This all makes a weird sort of sense to me.” Thomas’s words carried a note of hesitancy. “What I don’t get is why this is happening.”

  “I don’t have all the answers, but I do have some of them.” Dr. Stone reached inside his coat pocket and withdrew a battered old book. “It’s linked to the bear totem out on old Route 40.”

  Helen’s attention snapped to the doctor. The Bear. The story of the medicine woman and her enduring love for her dead warrior and kidnapped child. And how that love created Bear to protect Fearless. Holy…

  “Sadly, the common denominator seems to be pain.” Dr. Stone spoke the words so nonchalantly that she thought she might not have heard him correctly. He opened the book and turned the page. “I’ll venture a guess that life hasn’t been good to either of you. That you’ve both had more than your fair share of suffering and powerlessness. How much more powerless can you get than being in prison?”

  He kept talking, but Helena was incapable of listening. For a moment, just a moment, nothing changed. But then, as if the detonator had been set on a timer, the implications of his words exploded in Helena’s mind.

  How much more powerless can you get than being in prison? In prison.

  Dr. Stone knew she was Helena Grayse.

  She whipped around in her seat to see Thomas’s reaction. But he just stared at her with the same kind eyes he always had for her.

  He knew. And it wasn’t new information to him.

  But now that he knew, she was the one who couldn’t live with it.

  Chapter 12

  A rush of hot shame zinged from the top of Helena’s head down to her toes. Sweat instantly soaked her skin. Her heart curled in on itself like a pill bug in the presence of a threat. The back of her throat ached, or maybe it closed up—she couldn’t swallow or breathe. The room warped and wavered as if she were looking at it through a fun-house mirror.

  Raw panic propelled her to her feet, her body locked in fight-or-flight mode. She turned to run, but Thomas nabbed her by the arm. Her legs pedaled, and she yanked against him like a recalcitrant child.

  “Helen. Stop.” Thomas’s tone was calm, meant to soothe. “It’s all right.”

  But she couldn’t stop. The urge to escape consumed her. She tugged against his grip.

  “I’m not letting you go this time. You need to stop running.” The determination in his voice scared her almost as badly as the Sisters had.

  She whirled and shoved him. He lost his balance and fell back on the couch, taking her with him. She belly flopped on top of him and lay there stunned.

  “It’s okay.” His words of assurance had the opposite effect. It wasn’t okay. She wasn’t okay. She was never going to be okay.

  Something deep, dark, and ugly bubbled up inside her. She turned wild. A rabid animal cornered, fighting for the right to survive.

  She attacked. Punching. Shoving. Needing him to release her so she could outrun the pain before it swallowed her.

  A distant part of her mind registered the sounds of shouting. But the only voice that had any clarity was Thomas’s. “Don’t touch her. Just leave. Leave.”

  He yanked her to him, wrapping both arms around her in a bear hug that pinned her fists to her sides. Her legs took up the fight, but he shifted and rolled. She went weightless. Falling. She braced for impact, but Thomas caught her body with one arm, while his other braced against the floor. He lowered her gently, then settled himself on top of her. His chest at her head, his legs off to the side.

  She bucked, trying to dislodge him, but he was too heavy.

  “Helen.” His voice was impossibly undisturbed. “Calm down.”

  She didn’t want calm. She wanted anger and violence. That’s what she understood. Not kindness and acceptance.

  Rage and retribution rose inside her.

  She opened her mouth and bit him through his shirt. The sweet, metallic tang of blood hit her taste buds.

  He grunted, a sound she was familiar with. One she’d made too many times over the past decade. The sound of pain being endured.

  His anguish obliterated the irrational state she’d been stuck in.

  She went absolutely limp, all the fight gone. She panted against his chest, hearing the counterrhythm of his heartbeat. She could still taste his blood in her mouth. And smell it on his shirt. Her insides hollowed out, and she felt sick in her soul.

  How coul
d she have done that to him? He’d only ever tried to help her. Even when he’d known she were Helena Grayse, he’d accepted her. Not treated her differently. Not acted scared or suspicious of her. Yet she’d tried to run from him. Fled from his acceptance as if it was more painful than his rejection ever could’ve been.

  She was an animal now. Fairson had turned her into a feral beast not fit for polite society.

  Gently, she nuzzled her cheek against the place she’d bitten him, hoping to soothe the hurt in some way.

  Thomas believed he’d healed her. Now more than anything, she wanted to heal him. She pressed her lips to the injury, clenched her eyes closed, and concentrated on infusing her kiss with the hope of mending all the damage she’d caused.

  He didn’t say anything but shifted, allowing her the freedom to use her hands. She rubbed his sides, his back, trying to comfort him, all the while never taking her mouth off him. And then her fingers caught in the hem of his shirt, and it felt right and natural to let her hand slip under the material to stroke his warm skin. His flesh felt perfect against hers. Like a kiss, a hug, and a bath.

  Her girlie parts warmed and went tingly—an itch she wanted to scratch. She was a greedy girl who wanted more. She tugged his shirt up to his shoulders.

  “Helen…” He moved so his face loomed over hers. The scar blazed with beauty. To her, it looked like a windswept tree, the kind of image she’d expect to see in an art gallery or in the pages of a magazine. It was captivating in a way nothing else could be. She wanted to stare at it, to lose herself in imagining being someplace where that tree really existed.

  His midnight-blue eyes showed twinkles of starlight in their depths. “I want to. Really do. But not like this. The next time, it’s not going to be you fucking me. It’s going to be me making love to you.”

  His words slapped one cheek with the sting of rejection while caressing the other cheek with the promise of love.