Chapter 29 - Sam

Something like a tiny electric shock brought Sam out of a dead sleep. Her eyes sprang open to the sight of very high, very dirty ceiling tiles. It took her a moment to realize that she was lying across Greg’s legs, that the annoying sensation on her back was her cell phone’s vibration, and that the ceiling looked high because they were on the floor of the conference room where she’d . . .

Sam scrambled to her feet, disoriented. Her phone was on Greg’s lap vibrating away. It had slipped out of her back pocket. As she leaned down to grab it, Greg shot to his feet and sent the iPhone skidding across the floor.

“What? What is it?” He looked around with wide, blue eyes.

She chased after the phone and brought it to her ear. “Hello?”

The caller had disconnected already. She stared at the screen and frowned.

“Who was it?” Greg asked.

“I don’t know. Looks like a weird number. International maybe.”

“International?” His voice went tight with suspicion. “Shit! We should have probably gotten rid of that phone. They could trace it, couldn’t they?”

Sam had no idea what it took to trace a phone, but it probably wasn’t all that hard, especially if you had the means to pay someone who knew how.

The phone started vibrating again. A call from the same number.

“Don’t answer it!” Greg exclaimed.

Sam was tempted to pick up. Her finger hovered over the green button as she wondered who it could be. After some thought, she shook her head and tapped the red button instead. One simple click could undo the effort of the last few days—not that undoing half of what had happened didn’t sound like a good idea. Maybe they should have headed west like Greg had wanted.

“What do we do with it?” Sam stared at the phone as if it was a time-ticking bomb. There even was a voicemail from James she didn’t have the heart to listen to.

“Maybe turn it off. I don’t think they can trace it if it’s off. I’m not really sure.”

It didn’t sound like Greg knew how cell phones could be tracked either. For all they knew, whoever had been trying to reach them had already pinpointed their location.

Sam shut down the phone and watched the screen go through the usual cycle. “How will I know if Brooke is okay? I need to find out.”

“We’ll buy a disposable phone first chance we get. I should have packed one in our bags.” Greg looked mad at himself and shut down his own phone.

“Where is everyone?” Sam asked. “Did we sleep?”

“Not as long as I would’ve liked.” He rubbed his eyes and yawned, looking very disappointed. “Mateo just left.” Greg looked at his watch. He scratched his chin. It made a raspy sound that, for some reason, she found sexy. “Well, it actually looks like we slept more than I thought. That was like six hours ago.”

“What time is it?”

“Six A.M.”

Greg stretched his neck. “That barely felt like thirty minutes.” He looked to the door with a “what now?” expression on his face.

Sam followed his gaze then looked back at the corner where they’d been sleeping. “I was pretty comfortable in your arms.”

Greg smiled. His eyes lit up, turning a radiant shade of blue that could brighten the worst of days. Even one like today where it felt as if a giant rolling pin had run her over, just to hand her over to the spiky side of a meat tenderizing mallet.

“Yeah, the spot had its perks,” he said with an even bigger grin. He walked to her, took both her hands and kissed her gently on the forehead. A chill ran down the side of her face. “How do you feel? You looked so weak after . . .”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, it drained me.”

“The first time when you helped your . . . Bernard, it wasn’t like that. You were fine afterward. But with Elizabeth, it just seemed to take so much out of you. Should I be worried?”

“No. I don’t think so. What I had to do for her was . . . much different. Harder.”

Sam didn’t want to think about last night. She had no good explanation or understanding for the finality of the awful task she’d performed. It seemed logical that it had been for the best, but the concept of completely excising someone’s vinculum felt as wrong as what Danata or other Rippers—if there were others—did to begin with.

“What exactly did you do?” Greg asked tentatively. “She kept saying ‘he’s gone’ over and over again. Is her Integral . . . dead?”

Tears prickled the backs of Sam’s eyes. She had no reason to cry for someone she’d never met, but the emotions that surged through her weren’t entirely her own. They were ghosts that belonged to Elizabeth, remnants of her sadness, infinite loss, and the sense that she’d never be whole again.

“Yes. He’s dead.” Sam held the onslaught back, enough to make her words sound normal.

“So then, you couldn’t heal her?” It was half a question and half a statement.

“Not in the way I healed Bernard. That was impossible. Instead, I . . . my instincts guided me to do something else.”

Greg wrung his hands together, waiting for Sam. He knew there was more, also knew to give her a chance to get her head around it, to accept it.

“I have to trust my instincts, don’t I?” She fought harder to keep the tears from spilling. She didn’t want to cry anymore. She wanted to be strong, wanted to understand this other being that lived inside of her. The split-personality sensation was getting old. Was it like this for everyone? Or would she have been able to understand her Morphid nature if she had grown up among her kind?

“It gets easier,” Greg said. “It’s maddening at first. The skills don’t come with a handbook. Our castes are too rare, anyway. For all we know, you might be the first of your kind. We have to learn as we go. And yes, you should trust your instincts. They’ve never led me in the wrong direction.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “They led me to you.”

His words reassured her. She nodded, placed a hand on top of his to hold his cool fingers against her flushed face.

“I . . . destroyed what was left of Elizabeth’s vinculum.” Sam spoke with her eyes closed, as if to hide her shame from the world. If she was to trust her instincts why did this admission hurt and embarrassed her?

“Um, maybe destroy isn’t the right word,” Greg said. As usual, he went to the heart of the matter, aware exactly of what was bothering her. “And if it is, then it means it was like removing a sort of . . . tumor, a cancer that needed to go.”

“But the way she was screaming. I hurt her, I—”

Greg placed a finger across her lips. “We don’t know that. She seemed a lot better in the end. Maybe we should find out.” He inclined his head toward the door.

Sam nodded.

Hand in hand, they left the room and walked into the hall. The hum of fluorescent lights filled the early morning silence. They checked Mateo’s office, but it was empty. Next, they padded into the sleeping area. The lights were still dim, just enough to see the still shapes lying on the cots and bunk beds.

Sam’s stomach tightened at the sight of the many lumps resting under those coarse blankets. Were they all like Elizabeth? Would attempting to heal them leave her half dead and riddled with emotions that had no business living inside her? Her stomach did another flip. If this was her fate, she didn’t like it one bit.

Her hand involuntarily squeezed Greg’s as apprehension slammed into the middle of her chest. He smiled reassuringly, probably sensing her fear, her desire to run out the door and flee into some western wilderness where hungry bears were her only worry.

Greg pointed toward a set of steps. “I hear people that way,” he whispered. “C’mon.”

He pulled her along. They climbed the short flight of stairs, walked down a narrow hall and came to a set of double doors.

Greg sniffed the air like a hound dog. His nostrils flared slightly, then his mouth stretched with a deep smile.

“Food,” he said.

“I smell sausage.” Sam tapped her nose with an index finger. “I could smell it from five miles away.”

“You could probably tell me the spices they used to season it.”

“Sage, I’m sure,” she said.

They pushed past the double doors and were greeted by the sounds of a busy kitchen. Pots clanked. Water ran in a sink. Sausage fried on a griddle. A heavy-set woman and a young man dressed in white rushed about preparing what looked like a massive breakfast.

Sam and Greg stopped and watched silently as the couple whizzed past each other, performing their tasks in a well-rehearsed dance. They took cues from each other, exchanged pots and utensils as they crossed paths, turned off timers and set new ones, flipped sausages before they burned.

They were both Morphids, judging by their height and perfect features. The woman was in her mid-forties, the guy in his early twenties. Their hair was mostly hidden under fishnet caps that tied at the back of their heads. They wore white, immaculate aprons without a speck of anything on them.

The kitchen was of a good size. It was old and battered from plenty of use, but it was pristine. Sneakers squeaked on the clean floor, all the pots and utensils had a place, and the surfaces looked as if they’d just been scrubbed. An utilitarian pot rack hung above a small work area with many spotless skillets dangling from hooks. Clearly, these two were professionals and ran the place with pride. That was enough to get Sam’s vote of confidence.

Greg and Sam were still standing there staring when the woman noticed them and stopped dead on her tracks. Sam got flustered and tried to think of what to say, but before she or Greg had a chance to utter a word, the woman surprised them by giving them a loud greeting.

“You must be Sam and Greg!” She smiled a huge smile. Her teeth were large and straight, her face round and welcoming. Sam liked her immediately.

“I’m Nadine. This here is Dan. And this is our humble kitchen.” She extended her arms to demonstrate their cooking place. Sam had been right. There was a great deal of pride in the way they ran the place.

Dan came forward, wiping his hands on a rag. He shook their hands, gave them a welcoming “good morning,” then apologized and ran back to the fryer to give a batch of tater tots a good shake.

“Mateo told me you might walk in here this morning. He asked me to tell you he went home to rest, but he’ll be back early. He took Elizabeth with him. Said she would get better rest there and he didn’t feel comfortable leaving here.” Nadine moved to a corner of the kitchen. “He also said you might be hungry, especially you, young lady.” She uncovered two plates that were set aside. “I’m glad you are up early. I just finished cooking these. The morning crowd is ravenous. Nothing is left unless you hide it and set two watch dogs in front of it.” Nadine gave a hearty laugh and looked back at them.

“I would give my life defending that,” Greg said. “They look delicious.”

“I made them special,” Nadine said proudly, “before the mass production began.” She hooked a finger toward several large pans of food. “Yours are real eggs, mind you. Well, dig in! I have to help Dan finish up. Doors open in a few.” She rushed off and left them to their amazing breakfasts.

They exchanged surprised looks, and then sat on the pair of stools in front of the counter. Everything was simple, but delicious. Sam could appreciate the freshness and preparation. The scrambled eggs were moist, the bacon cooked to crisp perfection, the biscuit layered and buttered. Even their coffee was prepared with extra attention. It wasn’t overly sweet and had a hint of foamy milk mixed in. Nadine had done wonderfully with the ingredients at her disposal.

“Seems like things are looking up,” Greg said between sips of coffee.

Sam laughed. He had a milk mustache that made him look goofy as hell, and he knew it, too. He crossed his eyes, going for an even sillier look. She laughed and stole a piece of bacon from his plate.

“Hey!” he protested, but let her have it anyway.

She bit into it and chewed, smiling. In the back of her mind, Sam could still feel all those desperate souls around her. The oppressive sensation in her stomach had not disappeared, but something had definitely changed. It took her a moment to realize what it was. After a moment, it hit her.

For the first time in weeks, she was safe!

No one knew where she was. Sadly, not even her best friend.

Just as they’d feared, Danata had eventually sent someone to kill them. But they’d gotten away, and now there was no one else to fear. Maybe coming here hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. Who would think of looking for her in a place like this?

Sam tried to hold on to this feeling of safety and well-being. It wasn’t easy, mainly due to one thought that had slowly inched its way closer and closer to the forefront of her mind. She pretended it wasn’t there and chewed her eggs with a smile on her face.

Greg knew her too well to entirely miss her disguised anxiety, but she’d do her best to keep this from him. She had never told him all the details about that broken, dangling vinculum of hers and how it seemed to tug at her sometimes, anyway. And now that she knew that completely excising it was a possibility, keeping the specifics a secret and avoiding talking about it was more imperative than ever.

Deciding what to do about the last vestige of her tattered vinculum with Ashby was entirely her decision. Greg would not play any part in that.