Time Walker: Episode 2 of The Walker Saga

by Shannan Sinclair

  Aislen didn’t flinch. She didn’t move away. She made no attempt to cover her body’s blatant and exposed arousal.

  Time held its breath. Raze felt her energy downshift and open, the low resonance inviting him in. It was everything he dreaded. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his hand into a fist, digging his fingernails into his palm, trying to create pain to relieve the pressure of his hunger.

  The amulet agreed and stung his other hand with a violent bite. It was enough that he pulled back a few inches.

  They hung there, wading in the excruciating undertow of desire. The amulet stung again. This time the charge moved through him, cooling the heat surging through his body. He stepped further away from her, raising his hand up into the space between them to reinforce the delicate boundary.

  She looked rebuffed, and the passion receded some more. Good. He need to control himself. They needed her to control herself.

  The amulet rumbled, reminding him of what he was supposed to do. He raised his other hand up and opened his palm to her.

  This is yours.

  Aislen looked down at the amulet, then back up at Raze, unbelieving.

  You need to wear this. It clearly conveys messages, and I think it could provide us with direction. But it is meant for you to receive them.

  Aislen cautiously touched the amulet in his hand. It responded, singing silent harmonies that Raze could feel in his bones. She traced its silvery pathway with a delicate finger, creating a choir of resonant overtones.

  Her finger touched one of the onyx stones and the pendant stilled. Aislen frowned and looked up at him.

  Did you break it?

  Raze shook his head. I don’t think so. It’s mutating. This morning it was all gemstones. This afternoon, only one stone had turned. Tonight, two more had changed. It may be something you are doing when you Travel. You seem to be changing just as quickly.

  She cocked her head to the side, considering him. I could say the same for you.

  Fair enough. It was no use arguing.

  She gently picked up the amulet, holding it as if it were a precious gift. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were misty.

  Without thinking, Raze reached up to unclasp the silver chain from around her neck. As his hand moved under her wet hair to the back of her neck, he could feel her skin rise up to meet his fingertips, blooming into a field of goosebumps. A voltaic charge zapped through his fingers like quicksilver through his veins.

  Her head fell back involuntarily and a sigh escaped her lips. She opened her eyes and met his, her lips parting, welcoming him.

  Jesus Christ, he wanted her. Something snapped within him, cracked open so profoundly that if he went there, he wouldn’t be able to put it back in the box. If he kissed her, it would unravel him completely.

  With every ounce of willpower he could muster, he slid the chain away from her neck, the thread of it connecting them like a live wire. Then, with his free hand, he pushed her away and stepped back.

  No! he telepathed, charging his space with anger, rage, disgust, any emotion he could find to push out the spellbinding temptation of her with a vengeance. If they fell into that vortex, they would be lost. Open, vulnerable, and utterly incapable of regaining control.

  She staggered backwards as if she’d been struck in the chest, gasping for breath. Now she did look like she would fall apart, and it wasn’t something he could bear to watch.

  “Why don’t you take a shower now,” he said harshly. “I don’t want to contaminate myself with you.” He stalked off in search of a cold shower, leaving her in a puddle of disappointment.

  ∞

  Aislen was doubled over in actual pain. Raziel’s rejection didn’t just wound her ego; it ripped something out of her physically. She ached with unsatisfied desire. At the same time, she was mortified by her own irrepressible, wanton reaction to him. Where was the abhorrence? The revulsion? The fear? It had all melted away in their last few hours together. She would give anything to have that back. She felt more vulnerable now than when she thought he would kill her.

  She staggered to the bed and fell onto it, on the brink of weeping. The shower hadn’t helped one bit. Initially, it seemed to; she hadn’t realized how tied up in knots she was until she’d stepped into the warmth of the running water. Being tied up in the car and lying immobile in The Womb for so long had taken a toll. She was taut and coiled. The shower embraced her from all sides, 18 heads massaging and pulsating on every twisted muscle until they had to give in.

  It wasn’t long before she succumbed to its persistence and let her body release the tension. The music soothed her ragged nerves, and she allowed her mind to flow with it, losing track of time.

  The shower changed cycles, shutting off the nozzles and beginning to steam. There was a built-in bench on the side wall. She couldn’t resist and laid down on it. The heat from the steam gently penetrated her flesh, coaxing her to let go and unfold even more. It carried a scent that filled the enclosure with traces of mandarin, bergamot, and lemon. She seriously couldn’t get over how divine it was, how it magnified her capabilities to relax. She could live in that shower happily ever after.

  When the steam dissipated, she reluctantly stepped out, wrapping herself in the thick towel Raziel had hung outside the door. She could still catch the masculine essence of him buried in the plush cloth. Her senses woke up.

  What was happening with her? Better yet, what was happening with him?

  He’d left the towel, set fresh clothes out for her, and fed her. She felt safe—uncomfortable, but protected. She looked up at herself in the mirror; a different girl looked back than the one she thought she knew. She looked wiser, stronger, less innocent and more a woman. They had become different people.

  Looking at her naked form in the mirror, Aislen realized what had to happen next. Her heart stuttered at the thought. But they had painted themselves into this corner, and if they were going to maintain the charade and keep the enemy at bay, they had to fulfill their expectations. They had to walk all that talk in the kitchen. If they didn’t, it would be a dead giveaway to anyone watching through the Qis. Aislen needed to prepare herself for the inevitable.

  An uneasiness moved through her. While not a virgin, she was woefully inexperienced. All her tepid tries at romance were with boys from high school. The closest she’d come to something adult was with Troy, in the dream temple… and thank God that had been circumvented. She would have felt used and violated now if it had.

  Would she feel that way with Raziel? Used? Violated? She blushed with the realization that she didn’t care. She wanted him…probably more than he wanted her.

  She evaluated herself in the mirror, trying to see herself through Raziel’s eyes. What would he think of her? She was pretty enough, but probably nothing close to what his money afforded him. She felt a bit ashamed at wanting to be good enough for him.

  She slipped on his fleece joggers, feeling a prickle of arousal at having his clothes against her skin. She slipped the light cotton t-shirt over her head, feeling bold leaving her bra lying on the bathroom floor. She scrunched her hair and re-evaluated herself. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best she could do given the circumstances.

  She took a deep breath, willing herself to trust the chain of events that was to follow.

  Oh, how wrong she had been!

  Aislen rolled over on the bed and pulled herself back into the present, wanting to erase the disastrous minutes that followed. When he’d looked up at her from his seat on the bed, time had warped into extreme slow motion. He took her in slowly, his gaze lingering on every sensitive place of her face and body. Her body responded as if he was touching her, coming alive, willing him to her.

  Then he was there, before she’d even seen him move. His presence pressed against her and all barriers melted away in the spontaneous combustion between them. She would have succumbed willingly.

  Yet he rejected her. Not only once, but twice, and the second time with such bile and revulsion
that Aislen felt dirty. He stormed out of the room, leaving her utterly bereft.

  It was her own damn fault. She’d misread all the signs, interpreted his actions as authentic reactions. But it wasn’t real. This was all a job that he was trained to do.

  Aislen sat up on the bed and looked at the pendant in her hand. That he’d given it back to her had touched her, and it made his outright dismissal of her afterward even more painful. She looked to where they had stood, where he had pulled the chain from her neck so she could wear it, and where she’d lost every last drop of self-control.

  The chain was lying on the floor. He had dropped it in his eagerness to get away from her. She dragged herself off the bed and picked up the chain. She threaded it through the pendant, then reached around her neck to clasp it. She could still feel the burn of his fingertips lingering on the back of her neck, and a fresh wave of embarrassment overtook her. But as soon as the pendant found its resting place on her chest, it erupted into its pleasing harmonies and instantly soothed her wounded heart.

  She looked down at its spiraling shape turning this way and that, pondering how it represented everything she was feeling. Twisted. She wondered why it was changing, why color had desaturated the three stones and changed them into something completely different. Was it because she was changing into something completely different?

  The pendant zapped; a charge of static she could feel through the threadbare t-shirt.

  Was it because Raziel had changed into something completely different?

  Another slight sting.

  Would it tell her when she gave the right answer?

  Harmony reverberated through her chest.

  Raziel had done the right thing. He had given her back this precious gift. The harmonies deepened, and Aislen understood.

  She felt his presence as soon as he stepped through the threshold, a cooler energy now, the passionate fire extinguished. Still, she dared not look up at him.

  I’m sorry, he said. I didn’t mean to be so aggressive. And it wasn’t my intention to hurt your feelings.

  Good God. Aislen definitely couldn’t look up at him now. An apology?!

  She kept her focus on the pendant. No. I am the one that should apologize. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I thought we were supposed to… She stopped herself. She couldn’t say it, she didn’t want to think it. …I thought…because the readers–they’d expect–

  Raziel interrupted her. Don’t apologize. Normally, that would be the right choice.

  Aislen’s head spun. Now she was right about something?! She couldn’t help but look up at him now. He was dressed similarly to her: joggers, t-shirt, his hair blacker than black in its wet state, making his eyes bluer than blue if that was even possible. Don’t go there, Aislen, she told herself, shielding the thought from her telepathic channels, surprising herself that she could do that.

  Raziel continued. I’m pretty sure whatever fireworks that happened between us just now was way more than any reader or watcher has witnessed here before. So there is no need to consummate their expectations on that front.

  Again, Aislen was taken aback. So it wasn’t just her; he could feel it, too. That took the sting out of his rejection.

  I’m sure you would agree that regardless of whatever this thing is, he gestured to the air between them, it is for the best if that doesn’t happen. You can see that it is disorienting. And if we are not vigilant, we are vulnerable.

  Aislen nodded her head, literally in awe of his command of the situation.

  That being said, he shifted his feet and set his shoulders, becoming firmer, I am sure you realize that you and I have to sleep here together. He nodded his head toward the bed behind her.

  She felt the “whatever it was” flare up and caught herself, trying to mirror how he was handling himself instead.

  I would never go into The Womb when I had a guest staying, he explained. It is a violation of protocol. And obviously, you can’t leave like my other visitors do. The Womb isn’t a good place for you anyway. You really need a few hours’ sleep. Real sleep. Not Traveling sleep. And you shouldn’t be time traveling until you know the rules better. We can’t have you going into the past and altering the future trajectory. You could alter us out of existence.

  He watched her intently, making sure she wasn’t going to lose her composure.

  She looked over at the bed, then back at Raziel.

  It’s an enormous bed, he said, attempting to reassure her. And we can put pillows between us so you will feel more comfortable.

  There he went again, thinking about her needs. If he wasn’t trying to seduce her, this was doing a better job than the all the “whatever it is” was.

  Sound like a plan? Raziel asked, again blowing her mind by asking. If she was feeling like she was a completely different person, she couldn’t imagine how he was feeling.

  Aislen nodded. Sounds like a plan.

  Twenty-Four

  The days are a blur.

  Or are they weeks?

  Months maybe?

  Mathis can’t tell.

  Nurses are in and out.

  Doctors are in and out.

  Mathis is in and out, rising and falling between oblivion and semi-lucid consciousness.

  But mostly he dreams.

  He dreams of a standoff between dispatchers and officers over the last donut in the hot pink Mr. T’s box. It could happen. It’s a donut worthy of a showdown.

  As he reaches for a glorious maple twist covered in mini chocolate chips and crumbled bacon, Alpha Dispatcher shoots him with a laser gun; electric blue bullets of light penetrate deep into his chest.

  It could be real.

  His chest hurts like a motherfucker.

  He dreams he is sitting in his LaZBoy; lounging in nothing but his skivvies, PBR in one hand, remote in the other, flipping through channels.

  Static.

  Static.

  QVC.

  Static.

  Static.

  QVC.

  He can’t find Giada porn, so he watches the static.

  He dreams he is standing in a room alone, staring at a black box. It is blacker than black, a melanoid singularity that beckons, no–demands–he move closer. It coerces him with a gravitational pull so strong he barely manages to break away. Yet he does, narrowly escaping into another dream. But the black box is persistent: it keeps dragging him back into this dream, each time growing larger and more ominous. The little game console that wants to be the Kaaba or the star of a Kubrick film.

  Mathis knows if he reaches its event horizon, oblivion will win.

  In the lucidity between dreams, a new nurse, more meds. A grim-faced doctor with an update about his laser beam wounds. It all sounds like static.

  There is one constant that shines steadily just outside the boundaries of this inbetween.

  Sabine.

  She is always by his bed, holding his hand. She talks to him. She could be coaching him to consciousness. She could be reassuring him that everything is gonna be all right. She could be whispering sweet nothings and confessing her love for him.

  Mathis cannot tell. It sounds like static.

  He holds onto her for as long as he can, but the strain and pain are too much, and he slips back under.

  Sometimes he falls into a gap: not a dream, not awake, and not the oblivion that stalks him, but a neutral interlude where he floats on a blanket of ease and perfection. The clarity here is scintillating; the respite, profound and nurturing. Nothing matters here, and yet everything matters. It is like nothing he has ever known before, and also like something he has always known and has only forgotten.

  In this place, Mathis realizes that he has always thought in 1’s and 0’s: black or white, yes or no, this or that. In this place, he realizes there is really so much more, and yet it is all so very simple.

  Mathis likes this space but doesn’t know that he likes it until he is pulled out of it into one of the other infinite possible spaces.

 
; Like now, as he hears a soft tapping calling him up to the surface. He resists, wanting to linger in this sanctuary of grace. But this tapping unsettles him. It triggers a fight response in him. Mathis wills himself to float up into a haze, not knowing if a dream or lucidity waits for him on the other side.

  Sabine is there, standing beside a hospital bed. She is holding somebody’s hand in the bed.

  It’s me! Mathis is staring down from the ceiling; his own body is lying in the bed below. He’s tied up in a web of tubes and wires. He looks dead.

  Am I dead? He must be! How else could Mathis see himself from the ceiling! He feels like he is going to pass out. But dead men don’t pass out. And the machine is still bweeping, so he has a pulse.

  The tapping that brought him here gets louder, and a man walks into the room.

  “Hey there, Ms. Walker.”

  Words! Not static! They ring clear and distinct.

  Troy Kellen. Mathis could recognize that hipster pompadour and arrogant swagger anywhere.

  Mathis’s heart burns, not from his injury but from rage and hatred. The fury of it slams Mathis back down from the ceiling into his body. The vision that was Sabine evaporates into blackness.

  “Oh! Hello, Troy.”

  More words! From beside him now that he is in his body. Sabine’s voice is like music after only static for so long. He can feel her hand, warm and tangible, holding his.

  Fighting the torpor, Mathis tries to move just one little thing. A pinkie! He tries to make it flick at Sabine’s palm to warn her of the evil beside her. But those muscles are too far away from his thick brain, and he can’t get the energy all the way down his arm.

  He aims for his eyelids instead, concentrating all his power forward to lift the thin skin flaps from his eyeballs so he can glare death beams at Troy and get him to back away. But damn, if they aren’t the heaviest! They must weigh 100 pounds each!