Out of Sight Out of Mind (13 page)

‘How?’

‘I don’t know yet, but it
is
progress.’ She reached for her notes, speaking fast into the recorder. Listing the drugs she’d used.

‘Don’t forget the champagne. What was it? Bollinger ’92 or ’97?’ Jay enquired acidly.

She blinked, then added it to the list.

‘It might have been Krug. I’ll have to look at the bottle.’ She was gabbling, thoughts freewheeling. She took a hold on herself. ‘If we want to repeat this, I’m never going to get
that
past the Finance section.’ She prodded Jay’s middle. ‘Come on, be a little happy. This
is
a breakthrough. Sit up.’

Impatient, she reached to help him move the cushion, and only just missed brushing her breasts against his chest.

That
really
got her excitement under control.

She arranged their bodies so that they were sitting cross legged, facing each other on the wide settee.

‘Now, take my hand.’ She offered it. ‘This time, you come to me.’

The first attempts were blunt and painful. Madison felt her thoughts being squeezed and trampled as Jay found his mental feet. Thank God she’d never made her subjects feel like this.

‘Guilt.’
Jay’s inner voice reverberated softly, now she’d convinced him to scale down the volume. He was following her lead, exploring sensations.
‘Green and black. Wet. Smells acrid. Why are you guilty?’

‘It’s more like relief, that my subjects couldn’t feel me when I was a beginner.’

‘Clumsy? Sorry.’

Patiently, and with more wariness, Madison went back to helping Jay refine his technique. After an hour they were both exhausted. Madison leaned against the back of the sofa, spent.
A bit like the aftermath of sex.

She lifted her head with a jerk, afraid the thought might have spilled over. Jay’s eyes were shut. He seemed to be asleep. She shook his arm gently, thankful when he didn’t respond.

Her face was burning. Her breasts were tingling and tender. There was a suspicion of dampness between her legs. Oh God! It
was
like sex. Jay, sliding into her head, taking her thoughts.

Whether you want him to or not.

She shivered, rolling over a fraction to stare at Jay. Normally, when she entered someone’s head, it was a mass of emotion. Like soup. Not a bloody conversation. And not someone coming right back at her. Why now? What had changed? The setting, the drugs?
Could
it be the champagne?

It didn’t fit.

Nothing with Jay was normal. She had to protect herself. She had to have barriers. A girl had to learn to take care of herself.

She was still sorting through her thoughts when Jay opened his eyes.

‘Again.’

Exactly like sex
. She brushed the buzz away, like swatting a fly. She shook her head.

‘Not the telepathy,’ he insisted. ‘Dose me again and try the wall.’

‘You’ve had enough.’

The glint in his eyes was dangerous, as he rolled back his sleeve. ‘Again.’

Madison put a pint mug of water down on the table, scanning Jay anxiously. His arms were bruised with needle marks and his eyes dull with chemical hangover. She felt as if she’d run a marathon. He had to feel worse. And they had nothing to show for it. The wall was still stubbornly in place.

He was struggling to sit up. He made it at the second attempt.

‘I thought you were getting coffee?’

‘You need this more. Flush out the junk I’ve pumped into you.’

‘Mmm.’ He stretched a stiff neck, flexing to work out the kinks. She told herself not to watch. Then ignored her own instructions. Observation was necessary. She had to monitor the health of the subject.
Oh, really?

Jay shook his head and picked up the mug. ‘I guess I don’t need caffeine. My brain is running like an engine.’

She sat down beside him on the sofa, feeling his forehead and his pulse. One damp, the other fast. ‘You need to rest.’

‘Would if I could.’ He’d finished the water. He looked round vaguely. ‘Maybe a walk. Fresh air.’

‘Maybe a couple of hours’ sleep.’ She moved cautiously, hovering just on the edge of his consciousness, bracing herself to be pushed out again once he realised she was there. She forgot to breathe as he sensed her. His mind roiled for a moment, like a cat with its fur brushed back. Then, abruptly, he capitulated and let her gentle him, throwing a balm over racing sensations. He tipped his head back with a sigh.

‘Is it
so
bad? To accept a little help?’

‘I suppose not.’
He was relaxing visibly as she worked. She pulled out when his breathing deepened and everything in his mind went blue and misty.

She folded her legs up under her, watching him. Gave in to the impulse to smooth his hair away from his face. Touch his skin. Warm. His stubble was rough to her fingertips. There was something about a man asleep. Vulnerability. Neil had looked—

Gently she pulled her thoughts back from the way they were going. This man wasn’t Neil. She couldn’t recreate the dead in the living, just because her heart was bruised and needy.
If you think this has anything to do with your
heart
you’ve got a sad grasp of anatomy.

An unexpected gurgle of laughter rose in her throat. She was exhausted. Punch drunk. Her eyes fastened on Jay’s mouth. She wanted his mouth. Wanted to run her tongue around it, inside it, feel it pressed on hers, bruising, and then she wanted to move down. His chest. Her eyes hovered over his belt.

Grimly she unravelled herself from the sofa and headed for her study.

Jay was in her trust. Whatever she
wanted,
her hands and her lips stayed
off
him.

And his off her.

It was getting dark. Jay plodded along the pavement, doggedly keeping one foot in front of the other. Cars swept by, headlights fracturing the lengthening shadows. Walking to the Common hadn’t cleared his head the way he’d hoped. An hour’s sleep on Madison’s sofa had left him groggy, yet restless. He’d deserted Madison, with a half-mumbled excuse, to spend the evening alone in the studio, thinking he needed the space. But that hadn’t been the answer. His thoughts were wearing themselves towards exhaustion, grimly, ruthlessly, moving and shifting, obscured by fog. Something in there had changed.
Who the hell knows what?

He trudged up the steps to the apartment block, across the lobby and into the lift. On the top floor the door to Madison’s place was closed. He hesitated, hand outstretched to knock, before changing his mind and swinging sharply towards his own door.

Once inside he tossed his jacket into a chair and took a beer from the fridge, pulling the single chair towards the long window and dropping into it. He sipped, staring out at the gathering night. The stars were coming out in the sliver of sky visible in the gap between the two buildings opposite. Jay shifted uneasily. Telepathy. He’d exchanged thoughts with Madison. She’d been right. He had his own power. Power like hers. Gingerly he explored the idea, waiting for the pain. Nothing came. Fog swirled, the aftermath of too many drugs, but no sudden flair of agony. Had he imagined a connection between prying too deep into his situation and crippling stabs behind his eyes?

Was he imagining all of it?

Maybe he was lying comatose in a hospital bed, surrounded by tubes and bleeping machines, while all this madness paraded, unnoticed, inside his head? It was a thought.

He swigged deeper from the beer. Fantasy, or memory?
Had
he once been that way? Everything he could see and hear now
felt
real. Deep in the back of his mind, everything felt … right. Progress, just as it ought to be. Which was crazy, as there was nothing in his life that could be claimed as anything near
right
.

Except Madison.

Her name was a shiver on his skin. Without her he was adrift in his own life, a walking, talking nothingness. But now, it seemed, he was a nothingness with power. Was that coming from her? Was it her
will
that was doing it, pulling things out of him that might have lain dormant? Should have lain dormant?

Carefully he set the empty beer bottle down on the floor, beside his chair. Madison was drawing stuff out of him, no question. Had it already been there? Had he known it was there? He’d had a life, and now it was gone, wrapped in steel inside his own head. Wrapped in steel. His fingers tensed on the arms of the chair. Whatever Madison had disturbed, it wasn’t enough. The barrier was still there.

The wooden arms of the chair bit into the palms of his hands. He needed more. So much more. He raised his hands, pressing hard against his eyes until lights danced, trying to force them into some sort of pattern. And felt again the tantalising hovering-on-the-edge-of-certainty that he’d felt before. Something was there, if only he could make sense of it. If only he could wrench it out of the darkness—

Defeated, he dropped his hands and rose to make his way blearily towards the alcove that housed the bed. It swung down smoothly from its position in the wall, protesting gently as he threw himself down on it. He stared at the ceiling – a pure, perfect white blank, like his mind.
Your
mind?
Not pure, not white, not perfect
.

He rolled over and hid his face in the pillow, shutting it out. If only he could
think
. Gather his thoughts to a point and cut through the barrier, to what was beyond.
However terrible that might be?

Exhaustion was pulling him into oblivion. Briefly he struggled against it. Sometimes, like now, drifting down into sleep, he could almost sense … voices. One voice. Insistent, repetitive, calling his name.
His
name?

Madison is not the only one who has been inside your head.

She’d kept busy all evening – tidying her credit card receipts, shredding ancient bills, making herself a simple salad and eating it standing next to the kitchen counter, so she wouldn’t be tempted to call Jay to share it. She’d even watched some TV. Once she thought she heard the sound of a door slam and the whisper of the lift, but she might have imagined it. In any case, Jay was free to come and go as he pleased. She was not his keeper. She wasn’t anything to him.
Except a friend?

She was damaging him, and he was letting her. Because he was desperate. Something had changed. She had to figure out what it was, and use it, for both their sakes.

She sighed, pulling herself up off the sofa, to close the curtains. A new moon was riding high in a navy blue sky. The colour of Jay’s eyes. Madison grimaced.

Abruptly, a yawn overtook her. She took one last look at the new moon. Hope? New beginnings?
Hope?

It was dark. He couldn’t breath. The air was hot and heavy, stifling in his lungs. He had to keep running, gasping down oxygen. Muscles in his legs pumped, screaming. He surged on, one narrow space after another. There was light. The nameless thing was behind him. A long way behind. He’d got away.

No!

The wall reared up in front of him, out of nowhere, blocking his path. He heard a sound rising in his throat. It was here! No place left to run.

The dark stain splashed across the pale surface, just a few drops at first, splattering. Then a tide, running down the wall, black and viscous, obliterating the white painted surface, seeping over the floor, towards him, lapping at his feet, leaping towards him. He threw up his arms, to cover his face.

With a disjointed lurch it was all gone, sucked away. Relief made him dizzy. He turned, slowly, to make his way back.

He wasn’t alone. She was standing only a foot away from him. She shouldn’t be standing, shouldn’t be looking at him. Not any more. She was watching him but he couldn’t see her eyes, because she was dead. She was staring, with eyes that weren’t there. He looked down and his mouth stretched wide.

The screaming woke Madison. Coming from behind her head. On the other side of the wall.

‘Hold on, Jay! I’m coming.’ Oh God, could he hear her? She stumbled and almost fell as she grabbed her robe. The spare key to the studio was on a hook beside the door in the kitchen. She saw the clock. Quarter to four.

She fell into the lobby, wincing at the cold tiles under her feet, fumbled the lock, finally got it open and hurtled through the tiny hall and the open door into the main room. He was sitting bolt upright on the bed, back to the wall, eyes open but unseeing.

Sweat stained the front of his T-shirt, making it cling. He was lying on top of the covers, still fully dressed.

Heart hammering, Madison stopped beside the bed. Jay seemed to sense her presence. His head swivelled. She could see the whites of his eyes. The screams had settled into a heartrending murmur of sound. With only her instinct to follow she put her hands on his shoulders, gripping hard, and shook. ‘Jay.’

His head flopped, then snapped up. The way he swore convinced her he was awake. She put her hand to her mouth, fighting an abrupt wave of nausea. He was shaking. Without thinking, she pulled him towards her, cradling his head until the shivering stopped and he carefully disengaged himself.

Face going pink, she retreated to the end of the bed, belting her robe tighter. She had done more blushing around Jay than she’d done in her entire life. Well, since she was thirteen, anyhow.

‘I guess I was yelling?’ He had his arms wrapped around himself, shoulders hunched.

‘Something like that. What were you dreaming about?’

His eyes skittered away. He shook his head. ‘Don’t recall. I’m okay now. Thanks for the rescue.’ His lip curled.

‘Jay—’

‘I think I’ll open the balcony doors. Get some air.’ He brushed past her, still without looking at her. Madison studied his back, wondering whether to … The set of his shoulders told her not to even think about it. She took her dismissal and went.

Back in her own bed she sat for a long while, thinking. Something had shaken loose today. Something frightening.

Despite herself, she shivered. Jay knew exactly what the dream was, he just wasn’t sharing. Its trails had hung in the room, like sticky spider threads. Dark – and violent. Why? Too many meds, too much emotion? Or were they finally getting close to a breach in the wall?

Madison sent a tentative probe out, seeing if she could connect. When she encountered nothing but dead air, she rolled on her side and curled into a ball, pulling the pillow under her neck.

On the balcony of the studio, Jay gripped the railing with whitened knuckles, hauling in cold, moonlit air. His heart had steadied, but the sick griping in his guts still lingered. The sweat on his body had cooled, turning icy.

He stood for a long time, listening to the noises from the street, until chattering teeth finally drove him in, to lie on the bed, wakeful.

He drifted into sleep around dawn. Dreamless. No more pounding down endless corridors. No more fetid, stifling violence. No more dead women; bloodstained hands.

His hands.

‘I think we should take a couple of days off. Go to the sea, maybe—’

‘No.’ Jay shook his head, for emphasis. ‘Thank you.’

Madison shifted until she could look into his eyes. ‘We both need a break. You scared the living daylights out of me last night.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He leaned across the table, captured her hand. ‘But don’t you see? Something is moving. You have to press on—’

‘No. And that is my considered, professional opinion. You’re over medicated. We take a week off. From everything. Let your system clear.’

The horror in his face would have been funny, if it hadn’t broken her heart.

‘I’m fine.’ His grip was nearly splintering her bones. She pulled free. His face whitened when he saw the red marks across the back of her hand. She heard him gulp. ‘Two days.’

‘Three. Best offer.’

He went still. The silence stretched. ‘All right, three days.’

Having got what she wanted, Madison could afford to be generous. ‘If we’re having time out, how would you like to go to a party?’

‘What sort of party?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘Work related, black-tie, tomorrow night. Schmoozing potential sponsors for new projects. Human face of research. Meet the scaries. Shake their hands. Eat a canapé with Mulder and Scully.’

‘That is
so
out of date.’

‘People who donate big money don’t tend to watch much recreational TV.’

‘Do you really put yourselves out there?’ he asked. ‘In public?’

‘You bet we do. It’s all in a good cause. We raise money, we continue to get paid. The research we do, it’s mostly pretty straightforward, except for the occasional guy with amnesia.’ She grinned. ‘The thing is, everyone secretly
wants
to believe that what we do is a bit creepy. Getting a little shiver with their donation seems to make people more willing to put their hands in their pockets. It’s like theatre.’

He nodded. ‘That’s quite smart.’

‘It’s all a matter of presentation. People meet us, find we only have the requisite number of heads, but there’s still that little buzz.’

As they talked she could see the tension settling out of his shoulders.