Rise of the Phoenix

by Jamie McLachlan

  A derisive smile graces Evan’s lips. “Fantastic. Exactly the way I wanted, everything back to normal.”

  He stomps out of the office before the detective can utter another word. Guilt spreads, ensnaring me with its thick vines. I stare at his retreating back and remind myself to speak on his behalf. He deserves freedom, like me. My apathy might spread toward other empaths, but I’ve grown fond of some. A despondent sigh releases from between my lips. I turn back to the detective and find him staring at Evan with a different expression on his face. The black tendrils slinking into the air tell me everything.

  My mouth twists into a scowl. “Don’t you dare. I advise you to wipe that suspicion off your face this moment. The only thing Evan is guilty of is wanting to be free like any other human being.”

  “Yes, a desire that forces us to commit crimes we never thought we’d do.”

  My eyes narrow into slits. “What are you saying, Detective?”

  He pierces me with his stare. “Only that you never know what people are capable of.”

  My heart stutters to a full stop before beating again. I watch him stand, as if what he said is of no significance, but the words lacerate my skin, cutting deep until the blade hits bone. For all I know, he might have been speaking about me, not Evan. Everything he says is true. My own experience has taught me that. But his words ring harsher because they’re the truth about me.

  He walks around his desk and exits his office. I follow, even though my feet freeze to the ground. Each step requires tremendous effort to lift my foot and move forward. My chest rises with a deep inhale, and my heart slackens to a normal pace. I remind myself the fight is over. The case is solved, and my freedom lies within reach. My body should hum with excitement, not slouch with disappointment. Everything I’ve ever wanted is finally here, yet somehow, I feel as if this moment marks the end of my relationship with Keenan.

  With a numb mind, I exit the station and enter the motor vehicle. The detective pulls away from the curb and heads west down Churchill Road. Neither Keenan nor Evan speak, and I don’t dare break the silence. I turn my gaze to the side and watch the citizens strolling down the main road. My attention shifts to the various shops. A tailor. A boutique of women’s hats. A clothing store. An apothecary. Before, I had never stepped foot in any of the buildings. Madame Del Mar had always paid for and acquired our necessities. But now, I don’t belong to the Pleasure House, so I’ll have to purchase my own items.

  I will need money, which means I will need to get a job. But who would hire an empath?

  A new kind of anxiety grips my spine. I no longer have to fight to survive. Instead, I have to figure out how to live.

  Keenan continues west through the residential area of the middle class. When he nears the Dream House, he parks in front and exits the vehicle. Evan and I jump down at the same time. I examine his face, searching for any sign of his previous scorn, but he merely gives me a warm smile. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him close, inhaling the clean scent of soap. His hair grazes my cheek and tickles my nose.

  I squeeze him tighter, utter a silent vow, and whisper into his ear. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done.”

  “You can thank me by visiting me occasionally.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  He releases my waist, forcing me to let go. With each step he takes, my shame increases until a wall of guilt surrounds me. I climb back into the vehicle and watch Keenan escort Evan inside the building. Reality crashes in. No more masters or escorts. But without either, I’m homeless. I no longer trust Keenan will forgive me, and I doubt he would allow me to stay at his townhouse. Where else would I go? I can return to the hotel. Or maybe Rick will take me in. A wave of helplessness threatens to pull me under. I feel more lost than before. As a slave to the Pleasure House, I’d had a purpose—granted, one I had resented. When I had worked with Keenan on the case, I’d had a purpose.

  Now?

  A vague sense of freedom dangles in front of me. Nothing more.

  Keenan returns and settles behind the wheel. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Yes.” I lift my chin and smooth the apprehension from my face. “Take me to the hospital.”

  We’re silent as he drives back to Churchill Road. He parks in front of the large building and turns off the engine. I stare at the hospital’s front doors, and my foot bounces beneath my skirt. Anxiety and excitement twist into a chaotic ball pulling me in different directions. A hand falls on my knee, steadying it. When I glance down, my body freezes at the sight of him touching me. Hope flares, clinging onto this moment. He squeezes once and releases me.

  Words rush out. “What did you tell everyone?”

  “I simply told them Mr. Hayes collapsed in my office. The doctors are trying to figure out what’s wrong with him.” His gaze darts to my bouncing foot. “Relax, Moira. They don’t have empaths helping them with the patients, so it’s unlikely they’ll ever figure out what’s wrong with him. Despite my uncertainties, you promised me your plan would work. And it did.”

  Relief loosens the knot winding my body tight. As long as no other empath attends to Icarus, then no one will ever know what Evan and I had done. My foot relaxes, and I slip out of the vehicle. After a few steps, Keenan appears by my side. My pace quickens, pulled by the desire to spend as little time as possible here. When we enter the building, he approaches a nurse and asks her to direct us to Mr. Hayes’s room. His words fade out as I absorb the scene. White and pale green walls surround me, and a stringent odour permeates the air. I had been here before, but not as a visitor.

  The nurse heads down one of the hallways, and Keenan and I follow her.

  She stops before a closed door. “Mr. Hayes’s room.”

  “Thank you.”

  He nods, and she walks away. We stare at the door until he finally twists the knob. He enters the room, and I trail in after him, my steps slow and cautious. My gaze lowers to the man lying on the bed. Icarus’s suit jacket, vest, and tie have all been removed. The blanket has been tucked several inches above his waist, revealing his white undershirt. My shoes slide across the floor as I drag my feet closer. His eyes remain shut, yet his chest rises with life. He looks peaceful and vulnerable, unlike the man who had tortured so many minds.

  Keenan remains silent, so I take the moment to reach for Icarus’s mind. Darkness surrounds me as soon as I step into his landscape. Normally, a tide of emotions and thoughts occupies his mind and often prods at me to distract me from unveiling his true layout. Instead, I walk onto a blank canvas. I swivel around on my heel, searching, squinting in the absence of light. His mind is darker than Mr. Harrison’s had been. I continue walking and smack into a wall. As soon as I regain my balance, I trail my fingers over the rough surface of his barrier, the brick barricade that protects his real landscape. So not completely empty as I had thought. A frown pulls my lips down. Perhaps this is all an effect of being locked in a dream. It has to be.

  Unease slinks up my spine, but I ignore it and fall out of his mind, forcing calm into my voice. “I’m convinced now. We can leave.”

  In my haste to retreat, I bump into the detective. He steadies me by grabbing my shoulders, and his eyes search my face. His scrutiny threatens to undo me. I lower my gaze and focus on the first button on his vest, too unnerved to bear the full intensity of his gaze.

  An apology, barely audible, slips from my lips. “Sorry.”

  I push away from him and rush out of the room. My feet scurry down the hall, not bothering to pause and check if he follows. Because I can feel him, even when I can’t see him. His suspicion creeps across the distance and presses against my spine, an insistent prod that elicits my annoyance. If he no longer loves me, then he doesn’t get to have access to my thoughts. I shake my head, reminding myself that when it comes to the case, I don’t have a right to secrecy. I’d kept secrets before, and that had only led me to more trouble. Anxiety tightens a noose around my neck, forcing me to choke on my words.

&n
bsp; As soon as we enter the motor vehicle, he voices the thoughts spinning in his mind.

  The corners of his eyes tighten with concern. “Moira, is everything alright? You seem troubled. Did you find something in Mr. Hayes’s mind?”

  I bite my lip and stare straight ahead. After a moment, my shoulders drop. I’ll tell him and let him decide if it’s something to worry about.

  “No. Rather, it’s what I didn’t find.” At his confused look, I continue. “I found the wall in his mind, so I know his landscape is still there. His memories are intact, locked behind his barricade. But his thoughts and emotions are gone. His consciousness isn’t there.”

  His fingers dance on the steering wheel, keeping time with the ticking of his mind. Purple wisps float in the air around him as questions turn inside his head. The lack of concern draws my eyes wide. Perhaps I truly am overreacting.

  “Isn’t that what we want?” He focuses on me, and his hand stills. “What you intended to happen? If he’s locked in a dream, then wouldn’t it make sense that his consciousness isn’t there?”

  I force a smile to my lips. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

  “Moira, I understand.” He lowers his voice, and his gaze softens. “As an empath, you’re used to encountering people’s emotions and thoughts, and entering their minds. When all of that is gone, I imagine it’s unsettling.”

  Instead of comfort, my chest swells with a familiar ache. If I can’t have him, then he has no right to understand me so well.

  I glance away. “So what will happen to Mr. Hayes?”

  “I’m not certain, but they’ll proclaim him gone, eventually.”

  “You mean dead?”

  He studies me beneath the rim of his hat. “It’s a possibility. If he doesn’t wake, then there’s nothing they can do for him.”

  I give him a quick nod and look out at the street. My mind wanders as we drive back into the west district toward his townhouse. The realization that Icarus might be dead in a few days crashes into me. With him really gone, buried in the ground, he won’t ever bother me again. Then I’ll truly be free of him. A bud of joy blooms in my chest, casting light upon my doubts. My mood continues to elevate as we approach the townhouse. But the moment I turn my eyes on the door, my shoulders drop as agony knifes through my heart. I suppose I should be grateful for his kindness, for letting me stay one more night before my future is settled.

  Instead of waiting for him, I exit the vehicle and rush toward the door. Mrs. Whitmore greets me after one knock. I brush past her, tear off my coat, and hurry toward the staircase. The sound of Keenan’s steps echo behind me.

  With no desire to spend another awkward moment in his presence, I call over my shoulder. “You were right earlier. I’m not feeling well, so I’m going to lie down for a while.”

  When no response follows, my feet land hard on the boards as I climb to the second floor. As soon as I reach the landing, I spare a glance back down to the foyer. He pauses at his office door, his hand resting on the knob, and turns to meet my gaze. If only he would loosen his control over his emotions, then I could see if I still have a chance. I turn away and enter my bedroom, leaning on the door until it clicks closed. My throat constricts, making it harder to swallow. The quicker I know where we stand, the better for both of us.

  Hours later, I awake in bed. My head spins in confusion as I squint through the shadows shrouding my room. For a moment, the day’s events flutter in my mind like a dream, distant and unclear, until everything tumbles forward into clarity. I push up from the mattress and peer out the window. More darkness greets me, along with the faint glow of the streetlamps. My mouth falls open in shock, and a loud rumble stirs in my belly, confirming my suspicions. I’ve slept through lunch and possibly through dinner, as well.

  I toss the covers off my naked body and shuffle toward the edge of the bed. All I want is to eat and crawl back to my room. The idea of spending another awkward moment with Keenan fills me with dread. I slip into my chemise and wrap my housecoat around my poorly dressed form. The door’s cry echoes as I slink out. I survey the empty hall and shift my gaze to the foyer below. He might still be awake in his office, so I tiptoe down the stairs, careful not to make a sound. At one point, the wood beneath my feet groans. When no one appears, I continue my way toward the kitchen.

  As I turn around the banister, a door opens behind me.

  Keenan’s voice halts my progress. “You must be hungry. Come sit in my office, and I’ll get you some food.”

  “It’s quite alright.” My back tightens as words tumble out. “I can fetch some food on my own. You don’t have to take care of me.”

  I take a step, but the sound of his voice gives me pause.

  “Moira.”

  The way he said my name leaves no room for disagreement. My shoulders slump in defeat, and I swivel around. I keep my gaze focused on the floor as I slink into his office and slump into one of the chairs by the fireplace. Behind the grate, the wood snaps as the flames flicker across the bark. I drag my chair across the carpet, closer to the fire, and soak up the heat. After several moments, Keenan enters the room, carrying a plate in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. He sets the cup down on the table and gives me the platter of cheese, bread, and fruit. I dive into the food, closing my eyes as I savour each bite.

  He sits in the chair across from me and takes a sip from his glass of liquor. I turn over a piece of bread and watch him from beneath my lashes as anxiety creeps up and sours the taste of the food. He stares at the fire, enthralled with the element. But I know him better. He’s in the midst of some serious deliberation, and it’s only a matter of time before he speaks. I wait, forcing myself to eat beyond the unease twisting in my belly. A rhythmic tap echoes in the room as his fingers dance on the edge of his chair. Any moment now.

  His eyes slide in my direction and pin me down with their intensity. I swallow a lump of bread and gulp some milk. The liquid eases down my throat, but the sensation of a rock lodged in my chest remains. Will he tell me it’s over? Knowing him, he’d likely skip over the personal details and move on to inform me I need to find another place to live.

  A gentle firmness steals his voice. “Moira, there are several things we need to discuss. First and foremost, I must inform you of the details surrounding your freedom.”

  The bread drops from my hand.

  He pauses and eyes me with wariness. “The Elite will never allow you to be free in the terms you presume. You’re an empath, someone who can’t be trusted.”

  My jaw clenches as anger simmers below the surface. I should have known there would be restrictions. The fire dancing in the hearth snaps as a flame jumps. The sound stills the whirlwind inside my head. Perhaps I should have had Icarus get rid of the Elite, after all. I bite down on my retort and let him continue.

  “You’ll be expected to work for them.” He shifts his gaze back to the fire. “I’m sure you’ll have your choice to either join the blockers at the Legislature building or the ones who aid the police. They might even allow you to become an Elite member’s personal blocker. Either way, you’ll still be a slave like the blockers.”

  Sharp bursts of air escape from my nose. If I accept a position as a blocker, I’ll become everything I’ve despised all these years. I pause, wondering if I could live with that. The flames inside flare bright as images of Jonathan and Daniel flash in my head. I’d be no better than them. In the background of my growing rage, Keenan’s voice continues to fill the room.

  “You’ll have more autonomy than before, but your choice of home will be governed and your actions will be monitored. I know it’s not what you expected, but I believe it’s better than death or working at the Pleasure House.”

  I shove my plate onto the table, no longer hungry. “What else did you want to discuss?”

  His gaze shifts down to his lap, and he rubs his thumb over the rim of his glass. “I was hoping you’d consider staying here.”

  “Here?” My voice barely register
s as a whisper. “With you?”

  “Yes, with me.”

  Suspicion drowns out the bud of hope stirring within. If I stay, there are only two options. The first scenario flashes before me. I blink away the image, unable to imagine myself trailing behind him as his personal blocker. The only other possibility is as his concubine. My gaze flicks up to meet his, but his emotions continue to evade me.

  Caution weighs my voice down when I speak. “As what?”

  “Anything you want to be.”

  Derision creeps into my voice. “As master and slave?”

  Finally, a sliver of apprehension appears around him.

  “Those titles would only be a formality in public. But here, under this roof, you’re not my slave and I’m not your master.”

  “Is that so?” My eyebrow lifts, and I offer another tentative query. “Then would we be friends?”

  “We can be friends, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

  My heart leaps at the sound of those words.

  A tremor threatens to break my voice. “Or did you mean as lovers?”

  His gaze rises to meet mine, and the emotions leaking out of his mind colour his expression. Hesitancy creates a crease between his brows, yet his eyes smolder with affection. Finally, the answer I’ve been seeking since the moment I told him about Icarus.

  “If that’s the term you’d like to use.”

  A wide grin spreads across my face, and my jubilation takes hold of my body, forcing me up from my chair. He lifts his hands away from his lap as I rush toward him. I straddle him, nestling my legs on either side of his, and wrap my arms around his neck. Our tongues entwine, hot and greedy. I welcome the bitter taste of alcohol and press my body against his.

  He pulls away from me. “Was that a yes?”

  I nod, incapable of even whispering. Joy, fear, and tranquillity converge, creating a strange concoction inside. Words fail to rise. Only my body complies, answering him with another fervent kiss. For a moment, I worry this is only a dream and the man beneath me is a figment of my imagination. Am I still lying in bed, asleep and dreaming? I shake the thought away, not caring if it’s true or not, even if it’s my last chance to hear him say he wants me despite everything I’ve done. Happiness spreads, a tingly sensation rushing through my veins.