Rogue Alliance (48 page)

             
“Yeah, well, I feel fairly strong
ly
about it, so I guess that fits. I’d love to just cut it all off.”

             
“So why don’t you?”
he asked, puzzled.

             
A certain kind of sadness passed over her features and she rested her hands in her lap, staring down at them.

             
“Because
,” she said,
“
my mom loved my hair. She would have never wanted me to cut it. On nights when she didn’t have to work, she would sit and brush it and tell me stories of her childhood or of when I was a baby.”

             
Brennan sensed her nostalgia and feared that he was treading on dangerous ground by pressing forward.

             
“Those seem like wonderful memories to me, so why such harsh feelings?”

             
“Because it can be beautiful, but it can also be a curse. When someone’s coming after you, the first thing they reach for is your hair. They can grab onto it and have you on your knees in seconds as stinging tears of pain and shame slide down your cheeks.”

             
She suddenly turned and stared into his eyes. It was hard to focus on the road with her blatant gaze tearing open his soul. The picture that she was painting in his mind with only a few key words had him feeling raw with emotion. How could her father have hurt her like that?

             
“I see,” was all he could say. He was at a loss for words. The car wa
s silent as she finished tying
her hair back. It struck him odd that her feelings toward her hair, the love-hate relationship she had with it, reminded him of his relationship with Victor. Within those first few months of knowing him they’d developed a real friendship, but recently that bond had slowly eroded away as the undertones of Victor’s personality made themselves known. Now all th
at was
left was
the sense of being indebted to him.

*

             
His world felt smaller, tunneled down into a very small existence which consisted of only the steps he was taking forward, the steps which would lead him to his mother. The atrocities he’d been subjected to in the institute, the horrors he’d committed of his own free will, were nothing to the shock that was setting in as he walked down the hallway of the small facility where his mother was residing.

             
It was less of a hospital and more a small clinic. He was glad to
find that it was very clean,
even comfortable
,
with décor that encouraged the feeling of home. Except for the nurses and the nursing stations at each end of the hallway, it felt like a small living facility with a central commons area. Not quite the sterile, lifeless facility that he’d pictured. There was no similarity between it and where he’d been kept for the last decade. For that
,
he was grateful.

             
After talking with the nurse for some
time, he finally convinced her to let him see Clara Miller. She had insisted that she had no living children but when Shyla held up the missing person’s flyer, the woman had taken in a sharp breath.

             
“My god, it’s you,” she said, “s
he’s spoken of you so many times. I…don’t know ho
w she will tolerate this. M
aybe I should have you wait until tomor
row when her doctor can be here.
”

             
Brennan shook his head.

             
“No,
” he said,
“
I can’t wait until tomorrow.”

             
The nurse
procrastinated and pondered over the predicament for a few minutes before she finally agreed to let them back.

             
“Okay, bu
t I’m going to have to be there
to monitor her. We don’t know what this could do to her.”

             
“How is she? I mean, how lucid is she?”

             
“Oh, quite lucid most of the time. In fact, she will go for a long time in a completely normal, aware state and we’ll begin to think she’s finally ready to move out of here and to a halfway house. But then
,
without warning, she’ll go catatonic on us and she’ll be gone for three or four days.

             
“But she’s been stable for weeks now. I think it would be okay for you to see her.”

             
Brennan followed her along
the west wing and was grateful that she had not pressed for more information. She seemed to sense that it was more complicated than either of them cared to get into. He didn’t know that his step had faltered until Shyla’s hand slipped into his. Looking down at her, she was strong and brave and everything that he needed her to be. He gave her hand a small squeeze and stepped into the room.

             
It was a small room with a single bed. The curtains were open to the rainy day and the wal
ls were decorated with
hundred
s of photos. W
hat captured Brennan’s attention was the small, meek woman who sat in a rocking chair just to the side of the bed and stared longingly out the window.

             
A thousand memories rushed to the forefront of his mind. It was a whirl
wind of flashbacks so vivid and
fresh that it nearly took him to his knees. This petite, lonely woman had been such a source of love and joy in his past. It was so confusing, so frustrating
,
that he had been robbed of her and those memories for so long.

             
Clamping down on those feelings and the pain that was squeezing the breath from his chest, he focused only on the present. Watching from the doorway, he waited until the nurse had approached her.

             
“Clara, t
here is someone here to see you,” she said,
“a
re you up for company?”

             
“Company?” Clara looked up into the nurse’s face. Brennan saw a very wise but broken spirit in his mother’s eyes. Then as if sensing his presence, she looked past the nurse and focused on him. The recognition was immediate but the acceptance was slow, careful, and so very fragile, as if she dared to hope, worried the vision in front of her might slip away. He could read it so clearly on her face and feel it so strongly in his own heart.

             
“Brian,” she said in
a whisper. It wasn’t a question. She said it wit
h confidence and a deep knowing,
“Brian,” she said again and slowly stood up.

             
He walked toward
s her and h
er lip began to tremble. When he reached out to her, she nearly ra
n into his arms. Afraid to hurt
her, he refrained from squeezing too hard, but she was holding onto him as if her life depended on it. He could feel her body shake as she wept in his arms. When he felt the first salty tear run down his own cheek, he finally felt freed from the past ten years. He hadn’t known before, how restrained, how enslaved he had felt even after his escape. Not until he held onto the woman who had raised him for those first sixteen.

             
It wasn’t until later that he realized they were alone. Shyla and the nurse had left them to reunite in privacy.

FIFTY-TWO

             
It was ten o’clock at night when they finally left the clinic. Shyla had kept herself busy by walking the well manicured grounds. Though it was drizzling steadily, she enjoyed the quiet gardens. Later, under the sanctuary of a gazebo she made a phone call to Shawn. After he gave her the status update on Carmen’s search, she told him of the altercation she’d had in the parking lot of Dirty Dave’s.

             
“What in the hell, Shyla, why are you just now reporting this? You should have called us last night so we could have hauled him into the station right away.”

             
“I know,” she sighed, “
but I was drunk and in no state to go through the rigorous protocol that would have ensued. Besides, Brennan had me out of there so fast, I didn’t know what had happened until it was over.”

             
There was a vast silence on the other end of the line. Shyla knew that Shawn was trying to decide how to process her involvement with Brennan.

             
“Where are you now?” he asked.

             
“I uh…got a
lead from a friend down in LA.
I’m checking into it. I’ll be home first thing tomorrow morning.”

             
Her lie hung between them on the line. She hated to betray him, especially after the friendship that they had been developing over the past few weeks, but he would have never understood the complex relationship that was building between her and Brennan.

She prodded him with a few more questions about Carmen’s case and got off the phone.
             
The rest of the afternoon and evening was spent in the commons of the clinic, watching television with two of the other residents; one elderly woman who constantly mumbled under her breath something about squirrels, and a thirty-something woman who spoke only in questions. Shyla found their presence comforting and non-threatening. They didn’t expect anything from her and they didn’t know anything about her past.

             
Visiting hours ended at eight, but the staff was more than understanding and didn’t bother Brennan or Clara. When he finally joined her in the commons area, she was glad to see him, realizing that she had been worried about him.

             
“She drifted of
f a little while ago,” he said, “b
efore she went to sleep, I told her we’d drop by in the morning before we headed home. You ready to go?”

             
“A
nd miss out on the rest of the Nick at Night marathon?”

             
He gave a tired chuckle.

             
“I guess I can leave you her
e then,” he said,
“y
ou blend right in with the rest of the residents anyway.”

             
“Uh, oh
,”
Shyla laughed, “
you’ve been hanging out with me too long. Watch out, sarcasm is contagious.”

             
She stood up and plucked the keys from his grip.

             
“I’ll drive. You’re tired.”

             
“I’m okay,
”
he said, following her down the hall and out the front door.

             
“No you’re no
t
,”
Shyla snickered, “y
ou look pale and wiped out. It’s been a long day, you haven’t eaten since around noon, you’ve been on an emotional roller-coaster, and it’s late. I took the liberty to book us a room at an Inn down the road and I’ve got a roast beef sandwich with your name on it in the car.”

             
She paused before opening the driver side door.

             
“When do you need your next supplement?”

             
Brennan shook his head and looked out into the dark parking lot then back at her.
             
“Thanks, Shyla.”

             
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure if you liked roast beef but I figured you weren’t the picky type.”

             
“That’s not what I meant. I’m grateful for that too, but I’m talking about everything else- for coming, for understanding, for being you.”

             
“You really aren’t feeling well,” she said waving him off and sliding into the car.

             
Later that night, when they were in the Inn, she watched quietly as he slid the needle into his vein and started his infusion. She sensed that he was uncomfortable
,
so she retreated to the bathroom to wash up and slip into yoga pants and a t-shirt.

             
When she emerged
,
he was finished and his equipment was cleaned up. They were both exhausted. She climbed into the queen bed that was next to the window while he took his turn in the bathroom.

             
Steam rolled out when he stepped into the room. He was wearing only a pair of sweats. She watched his agile form move as he flicked off all lights except the one next to her bedside. Instead of going to his own bed, he walked to the other side of hers and slipped under the covers.