Rewind, p.7
Rewind, page 7
part #2 of Time Captive Series
“If at first you don’t succeed…” Oz shrugged. “Hatch is right, we tried everything else. I exhausted my medical know how.”
“I would have kidnapped a neuroscientist or a surgeon—or even a neurologist, if we could have found one.” Ever the soldier, Dirk expressed the inability to find someone worthy of kidnapping the same way he would have if he’d failed to meet a mission objective. “The alternative was to give up.”
That, they would never do. A sentiment repeated over and over again.
Sinking until I could sit in the sand, I covered my mouth and studied them. Even my hand over my lips wouldn’t keep the scream back if I decided to release it. Above, thunder rumbled and lightning flashed across the sky. The wind turned cold, and then Andreas was in front of me, and he held out his hands.
“You’re not alone, mi alma. You will never be alone. The first time I made this journey, it terrified me.” The admission cost him, but I gripped his offered hand in both solidarity and need to find sanctuary.
“What did you do?”
“Freaked out,” he said without an ounce of shame. Dirk snorted, but he didn’t interrupt, so I remained focused on Andreas. “I panicked, completely. You weren’t you, and this place threw off my equilibrium. They all tried to cover for me, but you figured it out pretty quick that something was wrong.”
The description summoned indistinct images of an argument? Or maybe just passionate disagreement? “We fought.” It wasn’t a question.
“Oh yes,” he said, a tremulous smile softening the hard line of his mouth. “We argued terribly, and then the construct failed because I blurted it all out and you couldn’t handle the revelation.”
“Sometimes, our own impatience got in the way,” Oz offered. Once again, the guys aligned with each other. “Sometimes, it was our grief.”
“Sometimes, it was just blatant stupidity and arrogance.” The priest didn’t pretty it up. “So we get it, you’re scared. As are we, but this is the first time—ever—that you have known the truth and the construct has held. More, it’s the first time you’ve remembered all the other constructs, every other living dream we’ve walked alongside you in.”
Maybe not the most soothing words, but it was something. “How long do you think?”
“Until what?” Andreas asked, and when he gave a light tug to my hands, I let him pull me to my feet. The threat of the storm remained on the horizon, but the winds had calmed.
“Until the countdown is over.” Maybe I didn’t know precisely what he’d referenced, but even I could infer from what they hadn’t said. “You said the clock…and they silenced you.”
Tell me, Andreas. I wanted to order him, but that would never work. The priest had his own moral compass, his own conscience to guide him. He glanced to the others, then back to me. Resignation reflected in their expressions. They wouldn’t stop him this time.
“You’re dying,” he said. “The memoriam has helped sustain your life functions for the last several years, but Oz noticed that…even those are beginning to fail.”
Multi-system failure. It happened, particularly when the mind could no longer instruct the body to live.
Okay then.
“Then I think we should all go upstairs…find something pretty to wear and pour the wine.”
Tomorrow, we could look at the reality of it all and figure out the fight. Tonight—today—whatever time reference applied, they would dance.
If I wouldn’t last much longer, then I wanted to celebrate the men I loved while I could.
Chapter 6
“How people treat you is their karma; how you react is yours.” - Wayne Dyer
Jazz filtered through the speakers—a sweet bluesy horn intertwining with a decadent piano melody. I flowed in Oz’s arms as he guided me around the floor. It was a slow, easy dance, and I savored the closeness. My guys had such differing tastes in music, and even styles of dance. Some I knew, some I kind of remembered, and others weren’t familiar at all.
It didn’t matter. We’d all changed—as I’d requested—then reconvened in the community room. Dinner had been a potluck of stew and hot bread. I suppose I could have created steaks, but I didn’t want to think about the implications of where we were, and the guys insisted comfort food was what we all needed. Hatch and Dirk shoved the sofas back to clear a dance floor. I didn’t care that we were in my mind, and the space we shared had specifically dictated parameters—mine and the memoriam’s.
The warmth of Oz’s fingers against the bare skin of my back sent little shivers over my flesh. I’d chosen the dress because I wanted to be pretty. Little more than a maxi dress, two lengths of fabric extending from the waistband let me wrap them in varying bodice styles. I’d chosen a crisscross that left a triangle of my abdomen visible, but tied behind my neck.
As if they knew me, the guys turned up the heat in the room—or maybe I’d done that. I hated to be cold, so why was my mind such a chilly place? The insanity of the question made me laugh, and Oz raised his eyebrows.
“You do not want to know,” I promised him. He’d chosen a white linen lace-up tunic with a round collar. The softness of the fabric a perfect counterpoint to the solidness of the man beneath, while the color emphasized the darkness of his skin. What a gorgeous man he was, too. He might not have Dirk’s bulk or Hatch’s fight-earned physique, but Oz was no slouch. Spreading my fingers over his shoulder, I had to fight the urge to explore. I’d seen them nearly every day for the last few years, and it still felt like it had been too long. The me who had seen them wasn’t me, at least not as I was now.
Hell, I’m not even who I was. If I let my thoughts linger too long in that direction, I would turn myself inside and out. Tonight wasn’t about where I’d been, it was about who I’d been with—these amazing men. Oz turned, gliding with the music and carrying me along with him. I loved it when we slow dance, but I also liked it when he cut loose.
Watching these four play and dance to “Thriller” on my birthday all those years ago had been hysterical. Why had they done that? I could barely remember that night—I’d been working in my lab all day. Or something. I’d been distracted, hadn’t even remembered it was my birthday.
“You’re frowning,” Oz murmured, dipping his head to catch my gaze. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you remember my birthday…I’d say the last one I celebrated because I don’t know if we’ve done it in here.”
“Yes,” he said, spinning me once. “I remember. We grilled pineapple steaks, and Hatch found your favorite wine—three bottles. Dirk hunted all over Auckland for your orchids. Andreas even baked the cake.”
Indigo mystique orchids, my weakness and favorite flowers. They needed tender care and vigilance, a luxury in our times, particularly in light of food shortages, water pollution, and fears of the next pandemic arriving around the corner. Most would have seen the orchids as a frivolous investment, but I loved them. The world needed beauty in all its forms, from music to art to flowers.
“Why do you ask?” Oz slowed, drawing me with him toward one of the sofas. Dirk and Hatch were playing poker. Andreas was just losing, but he seemed to be enjoying it.
“Thriller,” I told Oz as we settled on the sofa, and because I wanted to, I slid onto his lap. I loved how he cradled me instantly. There was a peace to this man, a sense of perfect discipline and ordered thinking. Maybe the scientist in me craved the physician in him—or maybe it was the compassion he wore like a cloak to attend to every activity.
His chuckle was deep, and long. “Yes, I remember, and no, we’re not putting on a repeat performance tonight.”
Laughter bubbled out of me, and I leaned against his arm as wave after wave of giggles shook me loose from some of my more maudlin thoughts. “I wasn’t going to ask you to do it again, at least, not until you said that.” Meeting his wry expression, I wrinkled my nose. “But now that you brought it up, it would be fun.”
“Dirk,” Oz called, never looking away from me. “Valda would like us to do Thriller again.”
“No.”
“Nope.”
“Hell. No.”
The three answers in varying levels of vehemence set me off again. I would bet even money if I pushed, I could talk them into it. Still, not the point. “Noted—no Thriller. Maybe we can do the Macarena.” There were crazier dances in the world, lots of them from decades before. I wasn’t so sure about modern dances, the club craze had died right along with huge swaths of the population.
Classics were what we had left.
“Very diplomatically handled.” Oz deserved the compliment. He’d managed to decline via proxy.
“I thought so.” He pressed a kiss to my temple, and the weight of his hand on my hip was a steady comfort. “Now why did you really ask?”
“Because I don’t remember why you all did it. It was fun, I remember laughing…oh, I laughed so hard.” And for a long time. I’d been giddy with it. In many ways, that night summed up the relationship we’d formed—the five of us. The guys had their nascent friendships, strengths and flaws which they brought out in each other. They all balanced me. Even the ridiculousness of the four of them shuffle dancing like zombies in imperfect cadence…they’d made it work because they’d done it together.
Exhaling, Oz canted his head a fraction. The hint of a studious frown formed on his brow. Ever pondering something, my beautiful doctor. “I don’t know, I think…I think we lost a challenge.”
His lack of clarity relieved me. I wasn’t the only one who didn’t recall clearly. “Challenge…the only challenges I remember were telling you guys to get along. There was some friction.”
“That’s it,” he said, nodding. “You challenged us to go 48 hours without a fight of some kind—verbal or physical.”
Then, as if he’d erected the bridge in my neural pathways himself, the memory opened like a flower. “48 hours, gentlemen. That’s all I’m asking for—no pummeling, arguments, or otherwise disagreeing with each other. If you have nothing nice to say, then say nothing at all.” I’d been close to a breakthrough in my research. I’d known I was, however, worrying about their friction interfered with my concentration. “If you manage, I shall grant each of you one full wish. You can request anything from me, and if it’s in my power to do or grant, it will be yours.”
Of course, they hadn’t won, and I’d been the one to make them do the dance. Covering my mouth as I started laughing again, I leaned my head against Oz. “I made you dance because Hatch couldn’t stop baiting Andreas.”
“Hmm-hmm…and Andreas couldn’t not rise to the bait.”
“A part of me feels like I should apologize to you.” An awkward sensation.
“No apology required. It made us work together, and it made you laugh. I call that a winning combination.” Pragmatic to the bone.
“I said a part of me. Not all of me.” Then, because I couldn’t resist any longer, I brushed a kiss to his jaw. It didn’t matter where we were—okay, it mattered—but I still felt like it had been ages since I’d been able to touch him. Was sensory deprivation a part of the…
Oz closed his mouth over mine, claiming my lips in a soul-stealing kiss, and all rationalizations faded. I could work out the scientific ramifications later. Leaning into the kiss, I teased his tongue with mine. Kissing Oz was always a slow, deliberate exploration. Tingling started at the roots of my hair, then gradually rippled down my spine like a sparkling cascade. Though the brush of his lips began gentle, I twisted in his lap and slid my hand along the back of his head.
More.
I wanted more.
Every nerve within seemed to light up. A little hazy, I wasn’t prepared for Oz to surge to his feet or for the care he took in making sure I had mine beneath me. With one arm still around me, he nodded to the door with a slight jerk of his head. Did I want to go with him?
Was that a rhetorical question?
“Gentlemen,” I said over my shoulder. “Oz and I are going to take a walk. We need some time.”
“We’ll see you in the morning.” The quiet acceptance and approval in Dirk’s statement bolstered me. A quick glance over my shoulder, and I caught Hatch’s playful wave and Andreas’ nod.
“Good night,” I called, then squeezed Oz’s hand and pulled away a moment. On impulse, I crossed to where they played cards. Dirk stood, and his arms were open. I took the hug he offered so freely and the gentle, almost chaste kiss. Andreas was next, and he squeezed me once. There was an ease to him that had been missing. I didn’t have time to examine it too closely, but when I pulled back and met his gaze, I made a promise to myself. He and I would talk the next day.
Hatch watched me with a bemused smile as I disengaged from Andreas. He captured my hand and lifted it to his lips where he brushed a kiss to the knuckles. “Sleep well, beautiful. Coffee in the morning?”
“After my yoga.” Banal conversation, but I craved it. How long had they had to worry that each time they said goodbye to me, it might be the last? My heart twisted, and threaded my arms around his neck. Impulsive displays of emotion had taken me time to acclimate to…not because I didn’t enjoy hugging them, kissing them, and making love to them, but because I was always so concerned about my research.
Tears heated my eyes, but I blinked them back, determined to be composed when Hatch released me. I even managed a smile.
“Behave, all three of you, or I’ll ask for that encore of dancing.” Their mixed reactions of snorting laughter boosted my mood, and I was grinning for real when I left them to take Oz’s hand. He raised his arm and allowed me to twirl, it was silly and girlish.
And perfect.
Hand in hand, we walked down the corridor to his suite. At the door, a memory swarmed over me.
Twisting back to face him, I said, “You didn’t answer me about the invitation I gave him…” Oz was a physician and a surgeon—a damn good one. “Does it bother you?”
“Sharing you?” He smiled. “Not at all. I want my one on one time, but the idea of you going down on his cock while I fill you with mine?” The raw language sent a bolt of pure lust through me. What an image. “It’s hot.”
The sound I released might have been laughter. It could have been a shocked bark, too. Oz paused in the doorway, concern etched in his expression. “Valda?”
“Did I really—proposition Andreas to join you and I?”
Almost immediately, his expression relaxed, and he tugged me inside as he walked backwards into the suite. “Yes, you did. It was a beautifully generous offer, absolutely artless in the way you tried to open yourself up to us.”
Because Dirk told me I needed all of them. I hadn’t understood then. Not really.
I did now.
“No wonder he seems so out of sorts.” I followed him into the bedroom of the suite. It was nothing like his room at the facility outside of Auckland. There a wall of photographs greeting him every time he entered, most were of patients he’d saved. A special few were of patients he’d lost, but whom continued to affect him.
His rooms were always light, though, and opened to the outdoors—weather permitting. For years, all he had around him was the stench of illness and the industrial cleaners available to the hospital wards he worked within—he preferred the sweeter smells.
“Valda,” he said, and I zeroed in on him. The room around us had changed, the warm mahogany wood of his bed, the framed photographs—though some of the faces were indistinct, I didn’t know them as he did—and the doors thrown open wide, leaving the wild tangle of the garden I never really had time to tend sprawled.
“Oh.”
“I like that you paid so much attention.” Was that a note of surprise?
“Oz,” I spread my arms, and then fell backward on the bed. The act served as both surrender, and also the claim for comfort found in sinking into the pillow-topped mattress. With four men, four different styles of quarters and creature luxuries, I’d always found Oz’s to match my tastes the closest. “Was I always so preoccupied that you worried I didn’t really see you?”
A discordant note in the symphony of our time together. Fingers flexing, I imagined the score that would mark the two of us, and I played a few mental notes.
“No,” he said, coming to stand at the edge of the bed, hands in his pockets. “You’ve always seen too much of us…too much of what made us, us. This room, the photos…even the choice of rugs and use of color on the walls. Those are surface observations and—”
“An inelegant methodology to understanding the true person beneath the shroud of life you have chosen to wear.” I knew what I’d said. “I have not changed my opinion on that particular matter. How you choose your space is a window into who you are, but it is not the whole picture.”
“Yet you noticed enough—that even some of the faces are correct.”
Lifting to rest on my elbows, I considered him and then the room. “Only some. The ones whose eyes were so…poignant, I would often be torn between asking you if they survived or not.”
Easing onto the bed next to me, he lay so our arms brushed. “You didn’t ask though.”
“No,” I agreed, and twisted my head so I could meet his gaze. “I didn’t. As long as I did not ask, then they were possible survivors. These—nameless people. They could be living their lives, overcoming odds, perhaps building families and new successes for themselves.”
He traced a finger down my cheek. “If you had asked, would who they are have changed?”
“Schrodinger’s cat,” I whispered. “As long as the box is closed, the animal is both alive and dead in the same moment.”
Lips pursed, he seemed to almost fight a smile before he said, “For you…for your reality. Your observation doesn’t change their actual existence.”
“True,” I agreed once more, then turned to lie against him, to rest my head on his shoulder and spread my hand over his chest. The heat of his body and the gentle thud of his heart—they were the melody of my man, of my Oz. Had Dorothy but wandered a while within this man, she would never have longed to return to a place like Kansas. “I can’t change fate for anyone. Not even myself. If they are all the faces of the lost, then what are we but the damned consigned to walk this troubled world, forever losing the ineffable battle to save them?”
