"Chyna, you couldn't see much in that darkness. That's why I was there."
She looked up at him and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, Kirk!” she cried. “To think I almost lost you, and I didn't even know you then. Kirk, promise me you’ll never do anything like that again, and don’t leave me, Kirk, don't ever, ever leave me."
With Chyna in his arms, Kirk glanced over at the doorway of the room where the young dead woman had been found, and tears gleamed in his eyes. Sad tears for a woman he never knew— and thankful tears for one he did know—and loved deeply.
After several grueling hours of answering questions and giving statements to the police, the detective told Kirk they were free to go. Kirk cut his eyes nervously toward Chyna who was out cold on the couch and thought about getting a room.
No,
he told himself.
He knew the best place for Chyna was in familiar surroundings. If something happened, he wouldn’t know what to do. She needed to be where Elaine could watch over her.
He began pacing, realizing the thing he feared most was finally upon him. He hadn't driven since his parents’ death, and didn't know how he was going to handle getting the two of them home. When he thought of getting behind the wheel of a car, it almost made him sick. He sat there struggling with a decision, then began mentally clicking off all the options.
They could take a cab all the way, but that would be stupid and expensive since they had a perfectly good working car. He thought again about taking a room for the night, but didn’t like his reason for doing it, so he didn’t even consider it. Besides, Kirk didn't like the idea of leaving Chyna’s car in the parking lot overnight. This was a big city filthy with carjackers, thieves, and vandals. He was afraid of what might happen to it.
Then he thought about calling Quinn and asking him to come up to get them. He could bring Elaine with him to drive Chyna's car, but knew he would never hear the end of it and would have to take Quinn’s cutting remarks all the way home. That was the last thing he needed, now that he was making some headway in his life.
With no more options available, he knew he was going to have to drive Chyna’s car. He looked out the window at the sky. It was a little overcast, but rain hadn't been forecast and that would help. Finally, not seeing any way out of it, Kirk gathered up his courage, pulled Chyna up into a sitting position, then sat down beside her.
"Chyna, honey, where are your car keys?"
"In my purse,” she mumbled, half asleep.
Kirk looked around, saw her purse, and with his teeth clenched to keep them from chattering, rummaged around in it until he found them. Then, with halting movements, his nervous fingers closed around them, feeling them burn his hand with haunted memories of rain-slicked streets. He saw lights from other cars zigzagging in front of him, heard the screams again from both his mother and father right before the concrete wall rose up before them, coming closer and closer. He felt himself stomping on the brakes. He had to stop it, but he couldn’t. The car was out of control. He could almost feel the impact again, and the flying glass, then nothing.
As the memories faded, tears glistened in is eyes. Kirk cut his eyes around self-consciously, afraid others had seen into his mind and knew of his terror. Seeing no one looking his way, he took a couple of deep breaths, and his darting eyes finally came to rest. Determined to keep the past behind him, he slowly straightened up and grabbed Chyna’s coat, threw it around her shoulders, then pulled her up and escorted her to the door.
* * * *
Kirk’s hands gripped the steering wheel of Chyna’s car, his knuckles bloodless and shaking. His eyes slowly shifted to the instrument panel, and all at once he was ten years in the past, driving his father’s car. He heard screeching tires, honking horns, and his mother’s screams all around him. He grimaced and put his hands up to his ears, but the sounds wouldn’t stop because they were coming from inside his head. He began shaking violently as he heard the rain pounding down upon them. Then the headlights. God, where were all these headlights coming from? They were glaring, blinding him. He couldn’t see where he was going. Then he opened his eyes and saw the awful picture of that concrete wall looming up before him. He shouted, then lifted his arms to shield his face.
He was too late.
He saw jagged edges of glass hurtling toward him—closer—closer—until they were making sharp contact with his face, cutting, ripping, tearing. His head went back sharply, and lay sideways against the seat, blood dripping into his eyes. When he tried to open them he saw the rain coming in. Mingled with his blood, it looked like drops of blood hammering down upon him. He heard shouts, then saw the crimson lights of an ambulance as it came screeching to a halt. Someone was talking to him, trying to be heard above the pouring rain and confusion. He wanted to answer, but somehow he couldn’t speak or move, then he felt strong hands pulling him out of the car.
Suddenly he heard a police siren blaring.
He jolted, opening his eyes to the present.
The blast of the ambulance siren had turned to horns honking, and traffic moving normally around him. No concrete walls, no rain, and no ambulance. Just the normal day-to-day confusion of cars on a city street, trying to get from one place to another.
He shook his head to get the cobwebs out, then wiped the tears from his eyes and looked down. Cars hadn't changed that much in the last ten years, at least not so much that he couldn’t figure it out. He clenched his teeth, reached his trembling hand out and touched the key to the ignition. His brain screamed,
No, no, no!
causing his hand to hesitate. But, he ignored his fear, struggled to push the key in and turn it. The engine immediately roared to life.
He glanced in the back seat where Chyna was lying down and thanked God she was out cold with the sedative the doctor had given her and not witnessing the terror he was experiencing. He looked around carefully at the other traffic and grasped the steering wheel in a deadly grip. With his teeth clenched, he slowly and carefully pressed his foot on the accelerator and pulled out of the parking space.
He inched the car along the street, sweating blood at every turn. He could feel the muscle in his jaw jumping crazily as he scowled at the other cars around him, sure that they were going to swerve into him and demolish both him and the car. Struggling to harness his fear, he clenched the wheel with trembling hands and listened to the sound of honking horns blasting all around him. As he watched, the cars seemed to edge against him so very close, he held his breath, sweating profusely.
Finally, he didn't know how, but he got to the highway. His eyes widened when he saw the other cars whizzing by at break-neck speed, and every muscle in his body tensed up. He finally managed to pull out into the flow of traffic, but it took everything he had not to raise his arms and yell as if he expected a collision. He inched along, staying in the right-hand lane, going as slow as he dared. His hand shook on the steering wheel while he succeeded somehow in keeping the car in a straight line. Finally a pickup truck, with several stacks of bound up hay in the back, and a farmer dressed in overalls at the wheel, pulled up beside him. He honked, causing Kirk to jump in his seat.
"Hey buddy, if you ain't gonna drive it, park it!"
The truck jumped forward, and Kirk looked around at the other cars whizzing past him, and knew if he didn't drive faster he might cause an accident. Slowly his foot pressed down, and the car speeded up. When he finally got up to full speed, he felt himself shaking while watching other cars weaving in an out of lanes. They seemed to be taking such ridiculous chances and following each other so close they were almost touching bumpers.
Suddenly the miles began whizzing by, and the further Kirk got out of town, the thinner the traffic became. With every mile he put behind him, he breathed a little easier, until at last, he was pulling into his own drive.
At last, turning off the key, Kirk brought his arms up across the top of the steering wheel, lay his sweating head down and closed his eyes. His full lungs exhaled a weight of pent-up air he hadn’t realized he was holding, then he sat motionless until his labored breathing had calmed. Remembering how bad it had been, he knew without a doubt that he had been lucky that day, just like the doctor had said. Glancing over at the dark window that used to be his, he knew he couldn't blame anyone else for the ten long years he’d spent there.
Elaine and Quinn had tried to get him out, but he wouldn't budge. He could have had his face looked at a long time ago, but he’d refused. He had tried himself, pronounced himself guilty, and clanged that barred door shut for ten long years. Looking up, he saw Quinn and Elaine standing on the portico with their mouths hanging open. He had made wardens of them both. They had fed him, took care of him, and nursed him back to health when he was sick. They provided him with everything he needed.
He looked at Elaine. She was beautiful, but she didn’t know it. Quiet, reserved, never thought of herself, only him. He was thankful for her devotion, but knew he had robbed her of a life she could have had elsewhere. By this time she would have been married, had kids, a home, someone that loved her. Well, now it was over. They were free too.
Slowly Kirk opened the car door and got out. His legs were shaking like jelly. He held on to the car door for a moment until strength, coming from somewhere, helped him walk up the steps of the portico. An outpouring of questions came forth, one after the other. He tried to tell them what happened, but stopped when he realized they weren't listening. Their eyes kept searching his face.
"Where in hell are your scars?" Quinn finally asked.
Kirk’s hand went up to his cheek, feeling the skin-like covering. With everything that had happened, he had completely forgotten about his face. "It's a skin-tone synthetic. The doctor put it on."
"My God, it looks completely natural."
Elaine smiled. "Why Kirk, that's wonderful."
Kirk looked at her surprised. "Elaine, you work with the doctor, I thought you already knew about them."
"No. I knew the doctor was working on the idea with a friend of his, but I didn’t know they’d gotten this far. You're the first person I've ever seen wear one. They’re completely new, not even on the market yet."
"But how do you wash, or shave?" Quinn asked, amazement filling his eyes.
"It can be used over and over again. Then when you need to, you apply another."
"Progress, progress," Quinn muttered, staring at his brother intently as he talked with Elaine. Looking at Kirk's smooth, smiling face, he knew he had a problem. Kirk was indeed a handsome devil—he hadn't counted on this kind of competition.
* * * *
Chyna lay in bed feeling very weak. Suddenly her door cracked open and she saw someone peeking in from the other side.
"Who is it?"
Kirk swung the door open and came in. "How are you feeling?"
She sat up. "Kirk, what happened? How did we get here?"
"How do you think?" he said, dismissing the question as he sat down on the side of her bed. "I've been looking in from time to time. Say, are you hungry or anything?"
"No," she said, then looked at Kirk and frowned. "Why is everything so quiet? Where is everyone?"
"We're all down in the study talking to Dr. Wilder. He came over to see how the synthetic was working."
"Do they know what happened?"
"Yes, honey, I told them."
"Well, I guess they had to know."
"Chyna, I had to tell them something. When I drove up, you were knocked out cold on the back seat of the car. I'm sorry if I let anything slip, it didn't occur to me you might want it kept between us."
She looked up at him with surprise. "You drove us home?"
"Yes."
"Kirk. All that way? You drove us?"
"Chyna, I had to. The other options were unacceptable, so I had to do it or never be able to get behind the wheel of a car again."
She lunged forward and grabbed him around the neck. "Oh, Kirk, I'm so proud of you."
He pulled her away from him. "Chyna, you're getting worked up over nothing. Just lay there and rest. Tomorrow will be soon enough for you to get excited over a thirty-one year old man driving a car."
She looked at him with love in her eyes. "Have I told you lately how wonderful I think you are?" She slowly lay back and pulled him down over her, kissing his soft lips, then whispering against them, "I want you to make love to me."
"Chyna, have you forgotten about you’re agent…?”
Chyna suddenly came off her high, and began sobbing. “God, Kirk, why did you have to remind me?”
“Because you have to face it. Work through it, and put it behind you.”
“You sound like some stupid shrink.”
“I’ve taken some psychology courses. I just don’t want it coming back to haunt you, and possibly doing some damage.”
She looked at him suggestively. “I need you, Kirk.”
“Hey, nothing would make me happier, but I've got to put a rein on it for tonight and think of your health."
"Do I have to get out my heavy artillery?" she said, cutting her gaze over to the blue lace nightie she had worn the night she went down to the basement.